GIFT   ©F 
A.    F.    Morrison 


/6  3 

O   Q,/  7 

o  ^  i-'-?  / 


POEMS  OF 
CHARLES  WARREN  STODDARD 


CHARLES   WARREN    STODDARD 


POEMS 

of 

CHARLES  WARREN  STODDARD 

AUTHOR  OF 

"SOUTH   SEA  IDYLS,"    "  MASHALLAH," 
"A  CRUISE   UNDER   THE   CRESCENT," 

"  THE  LEPERS   OF   MOLOKAI," 
"  THE   ISLAND   OF   TRANQUIL  DELIGHTS," 

"EXITS   AND    ENTRANCES," 

"IN  THE  FOOTPRINTS  OF   THE   PADRES," 

ETC. 


COLLECTED  BY 

INA    COOLBRITH 


NEW  YORK:  JOHN  LANE  COMPANY 

LONDON:  JOHN  LANE,  THE  BODLEYHEAD 

M  c  M  x  v  i  i 


GIFT  OP 
3 ,  F,   f*}  &  &GI  SQ  J 

COPYRIGHT,  1917, 
BY  MRS.  MORTON  MITCHELL 


Press  of 

J.  J.  Little  &  Ives  Company 
New  York,  U.S.  A. 


19/7 


TO  THE  MEMORY 

OF 
CHARLES  WARREN  STODDARD 

BY 

HIS  FRIEND 
ELIZABETH  P.  MITCHELL 


M101S06 


SAY,  CHARLIE 

Say,  Charlie,  our  Charlie,  say, 

What  of  the  night?    A-lo-ha!    Hail! 

What  noonful  sea?    What  restful  sail? 
Where  tent  you,  Bedouin,  to-day? 
O  generous  green  leaves  of  our  tree, 

What  fruitful  first  young  buoyant  year! 

But  bleak  winds  blow;  the  leaves  are 

sere, 
And  listless  rustle  two  or  three. 

Say,  Charlie,  where  is  Bret  and  Twain? 
Shy  Prentice,  and  the  former  few? 
You    spoke    and    spoke    as    one    who 

knew — 

Now,  Charlie,  speak  us  once  again! 
The    night-wolf    prowls;    we    guess,    we 

grope, 

But  day  is  night  and  night  despair, 
And     doubt     seems     some     unuttered 

prayer, 
And  hope  seems  hoping  against  hope. 

But,  Charlie,  you  had  faith,  and  you} 

Gentlest  of  all  God's  gentlemen, 
You  said  you  knew  and  surely  knew — 
Now  speak,   and  speak  as  spoke  you 
then. 

JOAQUIN  MILLER. 

7 


AT  ANCHOR 

In  Memory  of  Charles  Warren  Stoddard, 
Author  of  "South  Sea  Idyls." 

Swing  to  the  harbor  from  the  deep  of  sea, 

O  sail  of  mine,  but  hold  the  sea  in  sight! 

These  are  my  fronded  palms,  my  cocoa 

tree, 

And  these  the  islands  of  my  heart's  de 
light! 

My  lift  of  emerald  hills  against  the  blue 
From  blue;  the  feathery  mists  of  water- 

falls; 
The  winged  gems  that  flash  the  foliage 

through, 
Filling  the  air  with  fluted  madrigals. 

The  wash  of  waves  upon  the  coral  reef, — 

O  song  familiar  of  the  long  ago! — 
The  lap  of  waves,  where  blade  and  lance 

and  leaf, 

Fringing  the  water's  rim,  are  glassed 
below. 

8 


AT  ANCHOR 

And  here  my  tawny  comrades  laugh,  and 

reach 
Warm  hands  to  mine, — the  dear  brown 

hands  I  knew — 
With  glad,  glad  greetings  in  soft-voweled 

speech, 

From  hearts  that  have  remembered  and 
been  true. 

Long  have  I  wandered,  tossed  by  stormy 

tides, 
Benumbed   in    calms, — but    here,    how 

sure  the  sea! 
Furl  the  worn  sails, — the  ship  at  anchor 

rides, — 

Leave  me  with  these!     Leave  me  to 
these  and  Thee! 

INA  COOLBRITH. 


CHARLES  WARREN  STODDARD 

The  Poet  of  the  South  Seas,  1843-1909. 

Thine  exile  ended, — O  beloved  seer, — 
Thou  turnest  homeward  to  thine  isles  of 

light; 

Thy  reefs  of  silver,  and  palmetto  height! 
Yea,  down  thy  vales  sonorous  thou  wouldst 

hear 

Again  the  cataracts  that  white  and  clear 
Called  from  young  days — oh,  with  what 

loving  might! — 
That  from  our  arms  and  this  embattled 

night 
Thou  break' st  away  and  leav'st  us  sobbing 

here. 

Vain   the   laudation! — What  are   crowns 

and  praise 
To   thee   whom    Youth   anointed   on   the 

eyes? 
We  have  but  known  the  lesser  heart  of 

thee 

10 


CHARLES  WARREN  STODDARD 

Whose  spirit  bloomed  in  lilies  down  the 

ways 

Of  Padua;  whose  voice  perpetual  sighs 
On  Molokai  in  tides  of  melody. 


EXILE  ENDED— 1909 

Friend,  they  have  led  thee  far,  the  voices 

fond 
From  peak  and  strand  through  all  the 

thousand  isles 
Abloom  with  wreaths  and  kisses,  lit  with 

smiles 

And    vast    Alohas    calling    from    be 
yond! 

Yet  wouldst  thou  once  again  be  vaga 
bond 
'Neath  that  eternal  star  which  neyer 

beguiles; 
Thy  foot  hath  learned  to  tread  the 

lily  files 

That  sway   thy  Padua   as   with   silver 
wand; 

II 


EXILE  ENDED— 1909 

Round  Molokai  of  martyrs  hath  thy  sail 
Been    benediction; — Dreamer,    whither 

now 
With  heart  unquenched  wouldst  thou 

make  away? — 
For  what  new  sphere  of  sapphire — what 

regale 

Of  seraphim  Alohas  hath  thy  brow 
Foregone     the    plaudits,     the    pale 
wreaths  to-day? 

THOMAS  WALSH. 


12 


CHARLES  WARREN  STODDARD 

O  Muse!  within  thy  western  hall, 
To  mellow  chord  and  crystal  string, 
At  many  harps  thy  chosen  sing: 

His  was  the  gentlest  soul  of  all. 

He  sang  not  as  the  leaping  faun 
By  voiceless  rivers  cool  and  clear. 
Nor  yet  as  chants  the  visioned  seer 

When  darkness  trembles  with  the  dawn. 

A  milder  music  held  his  lyre — 
A  wistful  strain,  all  human-sweet, 
Between  the  ashes  at  our  feet 

And  stars  that  pass  in  alien  fire. 

His  skies  were  somber,  but  he  lit 
His  garden  with  a  lamp  of  gold 
Where  tropic  laughters  left  untold 

The  sadness  buried  in  his  wit. 

Lonely,  he  harbored  to  the  last 
A  boyish  spirit,  large  and  droll; 
Tardy  of  flesh  and  swift  of  soul, 

He  walked  with  angels  of  the  Past. 
13 


CHARLES  WARREN  STODDARD 

With  tears  his  laurels  still  are  wet; 

But  now  we  smile,  whose  hearts  have 
known 

The  fault  that  harmed  himself  alone, — 
The  art  that  left  a  world  in  debt. 

Of  all  he  said,  I  best  recall: 

"He  knows  the  sky  who  knows  the  sod, 
And  he  who  loves  a  flower,  loves  God." 

Sky,  flower  and  sod,  he  loved  them  all. 

From  all  he  wrote  (not  for  his  day), 
A  sense  of  marvel  drifts  to  me — 
Of  morning  on  a  purple  sea, 

And  fragrant  islands  far  away. 

GEORGE  STERLING. 


FOREWORD 

CHARLES  WARREN  STODDARD  died  in 
April,  1909.  At  that  time  I  volunteered 
to  edit  his  poems,  inclusive  of  the  volume 
of  verse  published  in  1867,  when  he  was 
a  mere  lad  (and  which  is  long  out  of 
print),  together  with  all  that  had  ap 
peared  from  his  pen  since  that  date. 

This  I  did  from  the  understanding, 
shared  with  others,  that  Mr.  Stoddard 
had  himself  collected  and  arranged  them 
for  this  purpose.  No  such  book,  how 
ever,  was  among  his  effects,  nor  has  any 
trace  of  it  been  found. 

From  the  fact  that  the  files  of  local 
magazines  and  papers  had  nearly  all  been 
destroyed,  in  the  San  Francisco  fire  of 
1906,  and  in  the  absence  of  any  clue  to 
non-local  publications  in  which  they  might 
have  appeared,  it  became,  veritably,  a  la 
bor  of  love,  which  many  times  seemed  as 
hopeless  as  it  was  long,  to  gather  the 

15 


FOREWORD 

poems  which  go  to  make  up  the  present 
volume. 

Mr.  Stoddard  did  not  rate  his  own 
poetical  work  over-highly,  and  knowing 
this  and  his  own  severely  critical  judg 
ment,  many  poems  have  been  omitted 
from  the  collection  by  the  editorial  hands 
to  which  it  was  finally  submitted. 

INA  COOLBRITH. 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

SAY,  CHARLIE,  By  Joaquin  Miller    .     .  7 

AT  ANCHOR,  By  Ina  Coolbrith      ...  8 
CHARLES  WARREN  STODDARD,  The  Poet 
of  the  South  Seas,  1843-1909;    EXILE 
ENDED — 1909,   By    Thomas   Walsh  .   10-12 
CHARLES  WARREN  STODDARD,  By  George 

Sterling 13 

POEMS  OF 

CHARLES  WARREN  STODDARD 

THE  BELLS  OF  SAN  GABRIEL      ...  21 

ALBATROSS 25 

PALM  OF  THE  SEA 27 

ONE  LIFE 29, 30 

THE  DAUGHTER  OF  PHARAOH  TO  BOHEMIA  31 

ALMA  NATURA 34 

EXPECTATION 36 

THE  COCOA  TREE 38 

To  THE  UNSEEN 40 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

IN  VACATION 42 

MOODS 45 

THE  AWAKENING 48 

A  NANTUCKET  GRAVE 53 

UTOPIA 54 

PREMONITION 61 

OTAHEITE 63 

SOUTH  SEA  BUBBLES 64 

LINES  ON  A  LOVING  CUP       ....  66 

AVALON 67 

SAIL  Ho! 70 

MERCY 73 

INDIANA 75 

THE  SECRET  WELL 78 

RESURGAM 80 

IN  CLOVER 81 

LITANY  OF  THE  SHRINES 82 

STIGMATA 85 

SUNSET  FROM  Puu  MAHOE    ....  87 

SANCTUARY 89 

VALE 93 

IN  A  CLOISTER 94 

THE  STORMY  PETREL 95 

A  RHYME  OF  THE  OLD  YEAR     ...  97 
18 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

RETURN 99 

OLD  MONTEREY 100 

YO-SEMITE  FALLS 103 

AT  POINT  LOBOS 105 

THE  ANGELUS 109 

LAHAINA in 

To  A  SON  OF  THE  SOIL 114 

THE  FIRST  RAIN 115 

WIND  AND  WAVE 116 

MAIDEN  LOVE 117 

SAMARITANS 119 

IN  CONFERENCE 124 

BY  THE  BROOK 128 

THROUGH  THE  SHADOWS 130 

YO-SEMITE 132 

TAMALPAIS 133 

DRIFTING 136 

DECREES 138 

MY  FRIEND 140 

A  PROVERB  PROVED    142 

AFTERMATH 143 

"I  AM  THE  WAY" 144 


THE  BELLS  OF  SAN  GABRIEL 

(The  Mission  of  San  Gabriel  Arcangel, 
near  Los  Angeles,  founded  in  1771, 
was,  for  a  time,  the  most  flourishing 
mission  in  California.) 

THINE  was  the  corn  and  the  wine, 

The  blood  of  the  grape  that  nourished; 
The  blossom  and  fruit  of  the  vine 

That  was  heralded  far  away. 
These  were  thy  gifts;  and  thine, 

When  the  wine  and  the  fig-tree  flour 
ished, 
The  promise  of  peace  and  of  glad  increase 

Forever  and  ever  and  aye. 
What  then  wert  thou,  and  what  art  now? 

Answer  me  O,  I  pray! 

And  every  note  of  every  bell 
Sang  Gabriel!  rang  Gabriel! 
In  the  tower  that  is  left  the  tale  to  tell 
Of  Gabriel,  the  Archangel. 

21 


THE  BELLS  OF  SAN  GABRIEL 

Oil  cf  the  olive  was  thine; 

Flood  of  the  wine-press  flowing, 
Blood  of  the  Christ  was  the  wine — 

Blood  of  the  Lamb  that  was  slain. 
Thy  gifts  were  fat  of  the  kine 

Forever  coming  and  going 
Far  over  the  hills,  the  thousand  hills — 

Their  lowing  a  soft  refrain. 
What  then  wert  thou,  and  what  art  now? 

Answer  me,  once  again ! 

And  every  note  of  every  bell 
Sang  Gabriel!  rang  Gabriel! 
In  the  tower  that  is  left  the  tale  to  tell 
Of  Gabriel,  the  Archangel. 

Seed  of  the  corn  was  thine — 

Body  of  Him  thus  broken 
And  mingled  with  blood  of  the  vine — 

The  bread  and  the  wine  of  life. 
Out  of  the  good  sunshine 

They  were  given  to  thee  as  a  token — 
The  body  of  Him,  and  the  blood  of  Him, 

When  the  gifts  of  God  were  rife. 
What  then  wert  thou,  and  what  art  now 

After  the  weary  strife? 

22 


THE  BELLS  OF  SAN  GABRIEL 

And  every  note  of  every  bell 
Sang  Gabriel !  rang  Gabriel ! 
In  the  tower  that  is  left  the  tale  to  tell 
Of  Gabriel,  the  Archangel. 

Where  are  they  now,  O  bells? 

Where  are  the  fruits  of  the  Mission? 
Garnered,  where  no  one  dwells, 

Shepherd  and  flock  are  fled. 
O'er  the  Lord's  vineyard  swells 

The  tide  that  with  fell  perdition 
Sounded  their  doom  and  fashioned  their 
tomb 

And  buried  them  with  the  dead. 
What  then  wert  thou,  and  what  art  now? 

The  answer  is  still  unsaid. 

And  every  note  of  every  bell 
Sang  Gabriel!  rang  Gabriel! 
In  the  tower  that  is  left  the  tale  to  tell 
Of  Gabriel,  the  Archangel. 

Where  are  they  now,  O  tower ! 

The  locusts  and  wild  honey? 
Where  is  the  sacred  dower 

That  the  bride  of  Christ  was  given? 

23 


THE  BELLS  OF  SAN  GABRIEL 

Gone  to  the  wielders  of  power, 

The  misers  and  minters  of  money; 

Gone  for  the  greed  that  is  their  creed — 
And  these  in  the  land  have  thriven. 

What  then  wert  thou,  and  what  art  now, 
And  wherefore  hast  thou  striven? 

And  every  note  of  every  bell 
Sang  Gabriel !  rang  Gabriel ! 
In  the  tower  that  is  left  the  tale  to  tell 
Of  Gabriel,  the  Archangel. 


ALBATROSS 

TIME  cannot  age  thy  sinews,  nor  the  gale 
Batter  the  network  of  thy  feathered  mail, 

Lone  sentry  of  the  deep ! 
Among  the  crashing  caverns  of  the  storm, 
With  wing  unfettered,  lo !  thy  frigid  form 

Is  whirled  in  dreamless  sleep! 

Where  shall  thy  wing  find  rest  for  all  its 

might  ? 
Where  shall  thy  lidless  eye,  that  scours  the 

night, 

Grow  blank  in  utter  death? 
When    shall    thy    thousand    years    have 

stripped  thee  bare, 
Invulnerable  spirit  of  the  air, 
And  sealed  thy  giant-breath? 

Not  till  thy  bosom  hugs  the  icy  wave — 
Not  till   thy  palsied  limbs   sink   in   that 

grave, 
Caught  by  the  shrieking  blast, 

25 


ALBATROSS 

And  hurled  upon  the  sea  with  broad  wings 

locked, 

On  an  eternity  of  waters  rocked, 
Defiant  to  the  last! 


26 


PALM    OF   THE    SEA 

PALM  of  the  Sea! 
O,  living  lyric  of  repose  eternal — 
Born  of  the  elements  and  full  of  grace; 
Happy   art   thou   where'er   thy   dwelling 

place — 
Thou,  and  the  sombre  Syrians,  when  they 

stood 

Beside  the  way,  a  saintly  sisterhood, 
Wearing    triumphantly    their    wreaths 

supernal. 
Happy  their  life,  happy  their  death  and 

sweet, 

For  their  plucked  boughs  have  kissed  the 
Saviour's  feet. 

Palm  of  the  Sea! 

O,  virgin  palm,  upon  thy  rocky  throne 
Transfigured  in  the  sun's  serene  baptism, 
Thy  pillar  a  pure  flame,  and  every  leaf  a 
prism 

27 


PALM  OF  THE  SEA 

Fretting  the   shadow  of  thy   emerald 

zone : 

In  thy  deep  joy,  thus  heavenly  arrayed, 
Wrapped  in  celestial  silence,  undismayed, 
Sole  in  the  far  oasis,  all  thine  own — 
An  angel  waiting  in  a  desert  lone ! 

Palm  of  the  Sea! 

Out  of  the  purple  gulfs  of  Ocean  reaching, 
Like  to  a  soul  aspiring  and  beseeching, 
O'er  the  glazed  wave  thy  mirrored  form 

is  shed. 
In  the  glad  hour,  when  sorrows  all  grow 

old, 

Against  the  shining  gates  I  shall  behold 
Thy  leaves  of  silver  and  thy  stem  of  gold : 
I  shall  behold  that  crown  upon  thy  head, 
When  the  graves  yawn  and  seas  give 
up  their  dead! 


28 


ONE  LIFE 

UPON  the  woven  leaf, 
Upon  the  veined  flower, 

I  find  my  life  portrayed  in  brief — 
My  life  from  hour  to  hour. 

A  frail  leaf  fit  to  die; 

A  young  bud  fed  with  dew, 
The  faithful  air  of  heaven  by, 

While  no  wind  roughly  blew. 

All  day  for  my  delight, 

From  dark  to  dark  my  own; 

One  butterfly  delaying  flight, 
That  left  me  not  alone. 

A  humming-bird  to  float 

Upon  a  breath;  a  bee 
To  blow  a  long  complaining  note, 

Invited  were  of  me. 
29 


ONE  LIFE 

A  rill  below  a  rock, 

A  pool  to  revel  in, 
A  lonely  lad,  a  wandering  flock, 

Were  all  my  kith  and  kin. 

A  tropic  time  of  growth, 
A  twilight  long  and  mild; 

Delay,  O  Autumn !     I  am  loth 
To  leave  thee,  well  beguiled. 

Forbid  a  leaf  to  fade, 

Forbid  a  bough  to  fall, 
Until  one  perfect  bloom  be  made, 

More  beautiful  than  all. 

I  know  that  Time  and  Death 

Will  wither  me  away, 
Yet  of  that  perfect  flower  one  breath 

May  brighten  all  the  day. 


THE  DAUGHTER  OF  PHARAOH 
TO  BOHEMIA  * 

WHEREFORE  these  revels  that  my  dull  eyes 

greet? 
These   dancers,    dancing   at  my   fleshless 

feet; 

The  harpers,  harping  vainly  at  my  ears 
Deaf  to  the  world,  lo!  thrice  a  thousand 

years? 

Time  was  when  even  I  was  blithe :  I  knew 
The  murmur  of  the  flowing  wave,  where 

grew 
The  lean,  lithe  rushes;  I  have  heard  the 

moan 
Of  Nilus  in  prophetic  undertone. 

My  sire  was  monarch  of  a  mighty  race : 
Daughter  of  Pharaoh,  I ;  before  my  face 

*  Read  on  the  occasion  of  the  presentation  of  a 
mummy  to  the  Bohemian  Club,  San  Francisco,  Cali 
fornia,  by  Jeremiah  Lynch,  Esq. 

31 


THE   DAUGHTER   OF   PHARAOH 

Myriads  of  groveling  creatures  crawled, 

to  thrust 
Their  fearful  foreheads  in  the  desert  dust. 

Above  me  gleamed  and  glowed  my  palace 

walls : 
There  bloomed  my  bowers;  and  there  my 

waterfalls 
Lulled  me  in  languors ;  slaves  with  feather 

flails 
Fretted  the  tranquil  air  to  gentle  gales. 

O,  my  proud  palms !  my  royal  palms,  that 

stood 

In  stately  groups,  a  queenly  sisterhood ! 
And  O !  my  sphinxes,  gazing  eye  in  eye, 
Down  the  dim  vistas  of  eternity. 

Where  be  you  now?    And  where  am  I  at 

last? 

With  gay  Bohemia  is  my  portion  cast; 
Born  of  the  oldest  East,  I  seek  my  rest 
In  the  fair  city  of  the  youngest  West. 

Farewell,   O   Egypt!     Naught   can  thee 

avail; 

What  tarries  now  to  tell  thy  sorry  tale  ? 
32 


THE   DAUGHTER   OF   PHARAOH 

A  sunken  temple  that  the  sands  have  hid ! 
The  tapering  shadow  of  a  pyramid  I 

And  now,  my  children,  harbour  me  not  ill; 

I  was  a  princess,  am  a  woman  still. 

Gibe  me  no  gibes,  but  greet  me  at  your 

best, 
As  I  was  wont  to  greet  the  stranger  guest. 

Feast  well,  drink  well,  make  merry  while 

you  may, 

For  e'en  the  best  of  you  must  pass  my  way. 
The  elder  as  the  youngster,  fair  to  see, 
Must  gird  his  marble  loins  and  follow  me. 


33 


ALMA   NATURA 

COME  from  the  vales  of  grief, 
O  Pilgrim,  I  implore  thee!     Let  me  tell 
How  I  have  sought  and  found  my  full 
relief; 

For  Nature  loves  us  well. 

Look  at  thine  own  disgrace, 
O  foolish  Pilgrim,  fainting  in  thy  soul! 
Let  but  the  sweet  air  breathe  upon  thy 
face 

And  it  shall  make  thee  whole. 

Bare  thy  close-shodden  feet; 
Put  off  thy  raiment;  naked,  free,  and  glad, 
Walk  with  the  shining  angels  Light  and 
Heat, 

For  thou  art  fitly  clad. 

Bathe  in  the  running  tide; 
O  seek  it  with  a  lover's  heart,  for  lo ! 
Thou  shalt  arise  from  out  it  purified, 

And  whiter  than  the  snow. 
34 


ALMA  NATURA 

Pause  in  the  orchard  path ; 
Pluck  from  the  bough  the  fruit's  untainted 

flesh, 
Eat  freely,  for  a  copious  store  it  hath: 

Then  live  and  love  afresh. 

Seek  thou  the  ocean's  flood, 
And  as  the  sun  glows  on  the  crystal  brink 
Seize  thou  the  golden  chalice  of  his  blood 

And  thirsting,  deeply  drink. 

Through  Nature  art  thou  blest: 
She  clothes  thee,  and  she  feeds  thee,  and 

she  gives 
Drink  to  the  lips  that  thirst,  and  perfect 

rest 
To  every  one  that  lives. 


EXPECTATION 

WHAT  news,  I  wonder,  from  the  South! 

I  saw  a  sail  blow  past  the  Head. 
I  wonder  if  my  lovers  still 
Are  watching  for  me  from  the  hill, 
Whereon  the  palms  are  dry  with  drouth, 

And  ferns  are  crisp  and  dead. 

I  wonder  if  my  lovers  yet 

Are  all  beginning  to  forget 

How  dear  that  day  was  when  we  sat 

Upon  our  Island  Ararat, 

While  floods  were  beating  at  its  base, 
And  winds  in  anger  seemed  to  fret 

Our  new-found  dwelling  place ! 

The  bark  was  driving  on  the  beach ; 
How  far  life  seemed  beyond  our  reach! 
The  shore  was  thronged  with  savage  men ; 
They  plunged  into  the  surf,  and  then, 

Above  the  breakers'  deafening  roar, 
They  gave  us  each  some  cheering  speech, 

And  helped  us  to  the  shore. 

36 


EXPECTATION 

What  sweet,  unprofitable  hours 

We  passed  within  the  silent  land: 
Calm,  or  impatient,  sadly  mute, 
Or  merry  in  a  mild  dispute; 
Long  days  of  summer,  ripe  and  hale, 
Horizons  all  hemmed  in  with  flowers, 
Till,  rescued  by  a  passing  sail, 
We  gave  each  dusky  friend  a  hand, 
And  parted  on  the  sand. 

I  wonder  how  my  lovers  are ! 
I  wonder  if  the  lime  has  shed 

The  name  I  cut  upon  its  bark! 

I  wonder  if  they  speared  the  shark 

We  chased  one  night  by  torch  and  star- 
He  had  our  pet  kid  in  his  mouth! 

The  sea  rolls  in  with  easy  swell; 
I  saw  a  sail  blow  past  the  Head; 
"She's  from  the  Line,"  I  heard  it  said- 

And  there  is  where  my  lovers  dwell, 
Along  the  burning  South. 


37 


THE    COCOA   TREE 

CAST  on  the  water  by  a  careless  hand 
Day  after  day  the  winds  persuaded  me: 
Onward  I  drifted  till  a  coral  tree 
Stayed  me  among  its  branches,  where  the 

sand 

Gathered  about  me,  and  I  slowly  grew, 
Fed  by  the  constant  sun  and  the  incon 
stant  dew. 

The  sea  birds  build  their  nests  against  my 

root, 

And  eye  my  slender  body's  horny  case. 
Widowed  within  this  solitary  place 
Into  the  thankless  sea  I  cast  my  fruit; 
Joyless  I  thrive,  for  no  man  may  partake 
Of  all  the  store  I  bear  and  harvest  for 
his  sake. 

No  more  I  heed  the  kisses  of  the  morn; 
The  harsh  winds  rob  me  of  the  life  they 
gave; 

38 


THE  COCOA  TREE 

I  watch  my  tattered  shadow  in  the  wave, 
And  hourly  droop  and  nod  my  crest  for 
lorn, 

While  all  my  fibres  stiffen  and  grow 
numb 

Beck'ning  the  tardy  ships,  the  ships  that 
never  come. 


39 


TO  THE  UNSEEN 

I  KNOW  of  One  who  is  so  true  to  me, 
We  may  not  parted  be. 

Though  I  have  strayed  on  to  the  utter 
most, 
Yet  is  His  voice  not  lost. 

If  I  am  madly-deaf,  for  having  erred, 
Still  may  I  hear  His  word. 

If    I    have   sinned,    behold   a    crimson 

flood— 
The  river  of  His  blood, 

Wherein  I  find  redemption:  tenderly 
He  wooes  my  fear  away, 

And  searches  out  some  star  of  hope 

above, 

So  boundless  is  His  love. 
40 


TO  THE  UNSEEN 

Though  I  am  weak,  there  is  a  hope  of 

power : 
He  is  my  mighty  tower. 

Like  as  the  sun  that  frights  the  gloom 

away, 
He  is  my  perfect  day. 

E'en  as  the  moon  that  is  the  charm  of 

night, 
He  is  my  full  delight. 

His   beauty   lights   a    mansion   in   the 

sky — 
Alas  I  and  what  am  I  ? 


IN    VACATION 

THE  sun  has  marked  me  for  his  own; 

I'm  growing  browner  day  by  day: 
I  cannot  leave  the  fields  alone; 

I  bring  their  breath  away. 

I  put  aside  the  forms  of  men, 

And  shun  the  world's  consuming  care. 
Come,  green  and  honest  hills  again! 

For  you  are  free  and  fair. 

How  wonderful  this  pilgrimage! 

On  every  side  new  worlds  appear. 
I  weigh  the  wisdom  of  the  sage, 

And  find  it  wanting  here. 

I  crave  the  tongues  that  Adam  knew, 
To  question  and  discourse  with  these, — 

To  taunt  the  jay  with  jacket  blue, 
And  quarrel  with  the  bees. 
42 


IN  VACATION 

To  answer  when  the  grosbeak  calls 
His  mate ;  to  mock  the  catbird's  screech; 

The  sloven  crow's,  with  nasal  drawls, 
The  oriole's  golden  speech. 

Now  through  the  pasture,  and  across 
The  brook,  while  flocks  of  sparrows  try 

To  quit  the  world,  and  wildly  toss 
Their  forms  against  the  sky. 

A  small  owl  from  the  thistle-tops 

Makes  eyes  at  me,  with  blank  distrust, 

Tips  off  upon  the  air,  and  drops 
Flat-footed  in  the  dust. 


The  meadow-lark  lifts  shoulder-high 
Above  the  sward,  and,  quivering 

With  broken  notes  of  ecstasy, 
Slants  forth  on  curved  wing. 

The  patient  barn-fowls  strut  about, 
Intent  on  nothing  every  one. 

A  tall  cock  hails  a  cock  without, 
A  grave  hen  eyes  the  sun. 
43 


IN  VACATION 

The  gobbler  swells  his  shaggy  coat, 
Portentous  of  a  conquest  sure; 

His  houris  pipe  their  treble  note 
Round-shouldered  and  demure. 

The  clear-eyed  cattle  calmly  stop 

To  munch  the  dry  husk  in  the  rack; 

Or  stretch  their  solid  necks,  and  crop 
The  fringes  of  the  stack. 

But  night  is  coming,  as  I  think; 

The  moving  air  is  growing  cool; 
I  hear  the  hoarse  frog's  hollow  chink 

Around  the  weedy  pool. 

The  sun  is  down,  the  clouds  are  grey, 
The  cricket  lifts  his  trembling  voice. 

Come  back  again,  O  happy  day, 
And  bid  my  heart  rejoice ! 


44 


MOODS 


O  MY  beloved,  e'er  the  sun  is  down, 
Where  is  my  young  renown? 

O  dear  beloved,  e'er  the  day  is  past, 
Where  is  my  portion  cast? 

If  I  have  falsely  sung  I  sought  amends — 
Yet  still  the  sun  descends. 

And  I  have  striven  hard  and  constantly, 
Yet  still  the  day  goes  by. 

What  is  a  lamp  unto  my  stumbling  feet, 
With  life  no  longer  sweet? 

The  stars,  in  differing  glories,  what  are 

they 
To  the  good  warmth  of  day? 

45 


MOODS 

Where  is  my  lacking,  that  the  world  denies 
Unto  my  art  the  prize? 

Gird  me   about  with   wings   that   I   may 

speed, 
Touching  the  stars,  indeed. 

Strong  is  the  spirit,  is  the  flesh  so  weak? 
O  best  beloved,  speak! 

Is  there  no  gift  in  store  for  such  as  I? 
Beloved  love,  reply. 


II 


O  my  beloved,  though  the  night  were 

here, 
Still  could  thy  presence  cheer. 

False  is  the  smile  of  Fame,  and  soon  ob 
scure, 
How  doth  thy  light  endure  I 

Fame  beckons  all  and  courts  the  multitude : 
How  doth  thy  love  exclude ! 


MOODS 

How  doth  thy  love  exclude  all,  saving  me, 
I  kept  unworthily — 

Retained,  made  richer  by  endowment,  filled 
Full  of  thy  grace,  yet  skilled 

To  walk  in  modesty.     O  perfect  heart 
Night  is  not  where  thou  art ! 

How  can  I  comprehend  and  value  thee 
Out  of  my  poverty? 

Amid  thy  lavish  elements  disbursed, 
I  faint  and  am  a-thirst? 

Too  prodigal  of  sweets  to  satisfy — 
Drinking,  I  still  am  dry! 

And  hunger  ever  though  forever  fed, 
Beloved!  beloved! 


47 


THE   AWAKENING 

I  TOUCHED  the  shore  in  other  climes 
Encompassed  by  warm  leagues  of  sea ; 

I  breathed  the  spicy  breath  of  limes 
The  sauntering  gales  bore  down  to  me. 

A  hundred  palms  with  feathered  tips 
Displayed  their  fair  pavilion  screens 

Upon  the  yellow  sandy  slips; 

Beyond  the  beating  barks  were  seen. 

And  as  the  barks  were  blown  across 
The  summer-blue  of  ocean's  breast, 

My  thoughts  were  borne  about  to  toss 
Among  the  currents  of  unrest. 

My  hammock  swung  within  a  shade, 
I  loosed  my  thoughts  where  they  would 

rove, 
Then  sounds  were  hushed,  the  ships  did 

fade, 
I  slumbered  in  the  musky  grove. 


THE  AWAKENING 

I  dreamed,  and  all  my  thoughts  returned 
Across  the  far-dividing  deep, 

And  that  dear  land  for  which  I  yearned 
I  seemed  to  find  in  fevered  sleep. 

In  dreams  I  reached  my  native  shore, 
I  found  the  year  in  deep  decline, 

The  desolate,  dull  landscape  bore 
No  hopeful  look  to  answer  mine. 

I  faltered  then  and  prayed  for  hope — 
And  hope  is  his  whoever  wills; 

With  half  a  hundred  doubts  to  cope 
I  strode  across  the  bronze-brown  hills. 

Then  seeking  with  impulsive  haste 

Some    phantom    that    my    brain    had 
wrought, 

Old,  dear  familiar  streets  I  paced, 
But  missed  forever  what  I  sought. 

Where  were  the  faces  that  I  knew? 

Where  were  the  hearts  that  I   could 

trust? 
Below  the  dark  and  lonely  yew 

Was  heaped  away  their  hallowed  dust. 
49 


THE  AWAKENING 

"O  Christ !"  I  cried,  "who  died  for  us 
That  we  might  live;  one  only  kiss 

From  those  mute  lips!"     "Why  sorrow 

thus? 
There  is  another  life  than  this " 

A  mellow  voice  of  heavenly  calm 

With  its  annunciation  spilled 
Soft  chrism  oils,  and  straight  a  balm 

Fell  on  me,  and  my  pain  was  stilled. 

But  then  I  pleaded:     "Take  me  hence 

To  glorify  Thee  and  adore, 
For  what  are  actions  or  events 

With  kindred  gone  forevermore?" 

The  voice  replied:     "No  action  dies 
Although  forgotten  long,  it  still 

A  sure  conviction  shall  arise — 
A  spirit  working  good  or  ill." 

Then  shame  smote  crimson  down  my  face, 
I  hastened  from  the  place  of  tombs, 

A  lighter  heart  bespoke  me  grace, 
I  doffed  my  dismal  cloak  of  glooms. 

50 


THE  AWAKENING 

I  cried:     "I  will  rejoice  to  do 

Such  deeds  that  nothing  ill  shall  dare 
To  stand  erected  in  the  view 

Of  the  new  legend,  fresh  and  fair." 

Then  swinging  in  my  hammock,  hung 
In  arbors  filled  with  fine  perfume, 

My  pulses  quickened  as  they  sung: 
uWe  shall  anon  this  task  assume." 


And  swaying  with  the  swaying  boughs, 
With  odors  of  the  fruit  and  flower 

About  me,  tempting  me  to  drowse 
Forever  in  the  scented  bower, 

There  came  a  voice  from  out  the  waves, 
It  was  not  as  the  voice  of  men: 

"All  they  that  lie  in  loathed  graves, 
They  shall  arise  and  live  again ; 

"And  whether  urns  with  precious  mold, 
Or  whether  acts  long  since  forgot, 

A  new  shall  come  of  every  old, 
There  is  no  death  in  any  lot." 

51 


THE  AWAKENING 

I  could  have  turned  as  adders  turn 
To  slay  themselves  in  misery, 

That  I  had  lived  my  life  to  learn 
So  late  the  worth  of  life  to  me. 

O !  foolish  lips  that  were  content 
To  sup  the  honey  of  soft  song! 

O!  silly  heart  so  sweetly  blent 

With  harp-like  music  trilled  too  long! 

O !  heavenly  oracle  divine 

That  filled  my  heart  with  holy  flame, 
What  new  delight  of  life  is  mine? 

What  miracle  of  hope  and  aim? 


A   NANTUCKET   GRAVE 

TIRED  of  the  tempest  and  racing  wind, 
Tired  of  the  spouting  breaker, 

Here  they  come  at  the  end,  to  find 
Rest  in  the  silent  acre. 

Feet  pass  over  the  graveyard  turf, 
Up  from  the  sea  or  downward; 

One  way  leads  to  the  raging  surf, 
One  to  the  perils  townward. 

"Hearken,  hearken!"  the  dead  men 
call  — 

"Whose  is  the  step  that  passes? 
Knows  he  not  we  are  safe  from  all, 

Under  the  nodding  grasses?" 


UTOPIA 

Scene:  MOKU,  in  the  South  Sea.  The 
POET  under  his  vine  and  fig-tree.  Pio- 
LANI,  his  "Man  Friday,"  in  attend 
ance.) 

The  Poet  speaks: 

A  COTTAGE  on  a  cliff, 

And  a  vine  beside  the  door; 

While  the  wind,  with   fragrant  whiff, 

Wakes  the  parrot  in  a  tiff, 

Puffs  the  matting  from  the  floor, 

Swings  the  window  open  wide. 

— Piolani,  please  to  slide 
Wine-jar  or  a  calabash 
Close  against  the  window-sash. 
Drops  a  spider  from  the  thatch 
Down  upon  my  writing  table; 
Splendid  specimen  to  catch, 
I'll  secure  him  with  despatch, 
Pin  him  up  and  write  his  label. 
54 


UTOPIA 

With  her  song  so  bland, 
By  the  cocoas  in  the  sand, 
Singing  with  her  siren's  voice, 
The  sea  leans  on  the  land. 
I  listen  and  rejoice, 
For  I  like  this  tawny  hour; 
When  the  stars  begin  to  flower, 
As  it  were ;  and  day  is  pleading, 
With  those  heavy  drooping  lids, 
And  a  glance  of  love  exceeding, 
For  one  moment  more  of  power. 
Thrumming  crickets,  katydids, 
Clouds  of  giddy  butterflies; 
Oddest  fowls  of  every  feather 
Hail  me  with  their  plaintive  cries. 
Moths  and  insects  of  all  breeding 
Upon  one  another  feeding, 
Huddle  here  together. 

— Piolani,  take  the  broom, 
Chase  that  lizard  from  the  room, 
There's  another  on  the  wall! 
How  the  slimy  creatures  crawl 
Over  everything  and  all. 

After  hours  of  heat, 
And  leagues  of  burning  dust, 
55 


UTOPIA 

How  soft  and  passing  sweet 
Is  the  turf  beneath  my  feet. 
See  this  wondrous  blossom  thrust 
From  its  dusky  tent  of  green, 
In  its  splendid  pride  and  lust, 
Like  a  painted  savage  queen. 

— Piolani,  do  you  know 
Of  the  nature  of  this  shrub? 
Why  the  waters  ebb  and  flow? 
Where  the  butterflies  all  go, 
Or  the  future  of  the  grub? 
You  have  never  thought  of  these, 
Yet  are  happier  than  I, 
Who  am  trying  to  descry 
What  my  brother  watcher  sees 
In  a  very  distant  sky. 
Do  you  ever  question  fate? 
Do  you  hate  with  burning  hate 
One  who  cannot  think  with  you? 
Do  you  send  us  white-faced  men 
To  a  hot  perdition,  when 
You  have  found  our  faith  untrue? 
That  is  what  we  Christians  do. 
Do  you  pity  when  you  hear 
How  we  turn  about  and  dread 

56 


UTOPIA 

Being  numbered  with  the  dead, 
And  the  only  God  we  know 
Is  a  God  to  scorn  or  fear? 
Do  not  tell  me  that  your  foe 
Meets  you  with  unflinching  gaze, 
Certain  that  the  weaker  dies ! 
That  you  let  the  life-blood  flow, 
For  a  coward  you  despise! 
So  your  soul  through  endless  days 
Walks  the  valley  of  its  youth; 
Goes  the  old  familiar  ways; 
And  shall  sleep  no  more,  forsooth! 
Do  not  say  we  cannot  touch 
The  one  God  we  fear  so  much ! 
Do  not  say  we  cannot  prove 
The  one  volume  that  we  love! 
Do  not  scorn  us  when  you  see 
How  we  never  can  agree — 
How  we  never  have  agreed! 
— Kill  that  scudding  centipede 
In  the  corner  on  the  floor! 
Would  you  land  upon  our  shore 
And  destroy  our  too  frail  hopes? 
Better  is  the  mind  that  gropes 
Toward  some  divine  ideal 
Than  the  mind  that  sleeps  in  sloth ! 
57 


UTOPIA 

Hopeless,   aimless,   hating  both; 

Doubting  what  the  years  reveal. 

Let  us  worship  each  his  way, 

Though  some  saints  would  doubtless  say 

That  this  very  liberal  view, 

And  the  plan  in  question,  too, 

Can't,  of  course,  apply  to  you. 

Piolani,  if  you  like, 
Having  brought  my  coffee  in, 
Strip  your  body  to  the  skin, 
Don't  imagine  you  will  strike 
Consternation  to  this  breast. 
Thus  it  was  we  found  you  drest, 
Nature  in  this  case  knew  best. 
Take  your  little  Idol  down; 
Cold  and  stony,  rude  and  brown, 
Eyeless,  earless,  noseless  too, 
But  it's  all  the  same  to  you. 
Nor  foot,  nor  hand  in  any  part, 
Utterly  devoid  of  art, 
But  a  comfort  to  your  heart. 
Fall  before  it  as  of  old, 
Sing  your  melis  manifold. 
Burn  the  boughs  of  resinous  trees, 
Solemn  incantations  blending 

58 


UTOPIA 

With  the  savory  smoke  ascending. 
Prone  upon  your  hands  and  knees, 
Care  not  that  a  stranger  sees; 
Be  a  savage  as  you  please. 
Be  not  watchful  nor  alert, 
Nor  regard  with  eye  suspicious 
Any  matter  I  assert. 
Do  not  try  with  surreptitious 
Spell  my  spirit  to  convert. 
Union  we  can  scarce  expect — 
Let  our  hearts  our  ways  direct — 
I  will  call  you  some  new  sect. 

Piolani,  I  can  hear 

Your  sweet  voice  rise  strong  and  clear. 
Is  it  god  or  goddess  now 
Whom  you  flatter  with  a  vow? 
Under  deepest  tropic  skies 
Let  our  two-fold  prayer  arise. 
Question  not  but  in  the  end 
It  will  reach  the  self-same  friend, 
Who  will  judge  us  well  indeed — 
Each  according  to  his  meed. 

Piolani,  this  is  all, 
Swing  the  hammock  in  the  hall, 
59 


UTOPIA 

Roll  your  mat  out  at  my  feet, 
Day  is  weary,  night  is  sweet. 
Day  with  toil  and  trouble  teems, 
Night  is  hallowed  with  dreams. 
Asleep  already,  at  the  start  I 
Piolani,  bless  your  heart ! 
If  peace  of  spirit  rest  insures 
What  a  conscience  must  be  yours. 

So  I  swing,  and  think  of  this; 
Saying  as  I  shut  my  eyes, 
This  is  ignorance  and  bliss. 
If  it  isn't,  then  what  is, 

And  who  of  us  is  wise? 


60 


PREMONITION 

IN  a  still  chamber,  a  white  bed  of  sleep 
With  soothing  pillow,  and  a  dream  so  deep 
That  it  alone  reality  did  seem, 
And  all  reality  was  but  a  dream, 
I  woke  as  children  waken, — in  surprise, 
With  soft  bewilderment  of  lips  and  eyes; 
For  I  had  felt  upon  my  eyelids  pressed 
One  darling  baby  kiss,  upon  my  breast 
A  passing  breath  as  of  an  angel-wing 
Poising  above  me,  fragrant,  fluttering. 

And  then  I  breathed  the  subtle,  sweet  per 
fume 

Of  lilacs, — purple  lilacs  in  full  bloom; 

Lilacs  so  cool  and  fresh,  the  flowers  I  knew 

Just  plucked;  pale  purple  lilacs  damp  with 
dew. 

In  ecstasy,  I  to  the  window  flew, 
Charmed  with  the  garden  of  my  dreams; 
but  no ! 

61 


PREMONITION 

There  coldly  fell  the  moonlight  on   the 

snow, — 
The   snow   that   lay   like   moonlight   far 

below. 

Was  it  a  memory  that  chose  to  bring 
From     my     dream-garden     a     forgotten 

flower? 

Was  it  a  spirit  that  forestalled  the  hour, 
And  woke  me  with  the  first  faint  breath  of 

spring? 


62 


OTAHEITE 

BEAUTIFUL    Siren,    thou    whose    palm- 
plumed  crest 

Gems  the  horizon  like  an  emerald  spray 
Plucked  from  perennial  paradise  away 

And  lost  forever,  yet  forever  blest! 

O  Summer  Isle !  the  rich  sea's  rich  bequest 
Unto  her  mermen,  that  with  rare  display 
Meltest  the  souls  of  those  whose  hearts 

are  gray, 

Like  the  warm  wave  that  fawns  upon  thy 
breast! 

Beautiful  Siren !    Thy  voluptuous  vales 

Invite  the  weary.     As  thy  raptured  guest 

The  mariner  lets   hang  his  mildewed 

sails 

And  seeks  the  fervor  of  thy  full  embrace 
In  bowers  whose  balm  betrays  their  hid 
ing-place, 
Never  to  rouse  from  his  enchanted  rest. 


SOUTH    SEA    BUBBLES 

AN  August  in  the  highlands 
Is  a  chilly  shadow  of  my  lands; 
O,  for  an  hour  of  the  fervent  heat 
That  nurses  the  South  Sea  Islands  I 

Your  harvest's  a  quick  comer, 
Your  Fall  a  tireless  hummer; 
The  century-plant  grows  old  and  dies, 
In  the  prime  of  a  South  Sea  summer. 

When  smuggling  bees  hum  over 
Their  honey  in  the  clover, 
I  think  of  the  honey  beds  I  know, 
And  storm  like  a  South  Sea  rover. 

When  the  winds  begin  to  mutter, 
My  heart  is  in  a  flutter; 
For  I  dream  of  foam  and  a  roaring  reef, 
And  a  rakish  South  Sea  cutter; 

In  spite  of  all  endeavor, 
Her  straining  low  lines  sever; 

64 


SOUTH  SEA  BUBBLES 

A  crash,  a  wreck,  and  a  watery  grave — 
Or  a  South  Sea  home  forever ! 

I  long  for  a  palm  thatch  cover, 
Where  chattering  parrots  hover; 
I  hate  these  dreary  fields  and  folk, 
And  sigh  for  a  South  Sea  lover. 

At  the  glow  of  sandy  reaches, 
How  all  my  soul  beseeches 
One  glimpse  of  the  far-off  blue,  blue  wave 
That  laps  on  the  South  Sea  beaches  I 

For  my  heart  is  full  of  trouble, 
Of  cares  on  cares  that  double; 
And  out  of  the  core  of  a  citron  gourd 
I  blow  me  a  South  Sea  bubble  I 


LINES  ON  A  LOVING  CUP 

MY  heart  to  thy  heart, 

My  lips  to  thine, 
In  the  dew  of  the  cornfield 

The  blood  of  the  vine. 
The  last  sigh  at  leaving, 

The  word  as  we  part 
Is,  my  lips  to  thy  lips, 

We  two,  heart  to  heart. 


66 


AVALON 

WHEN  lamp  light  flickers  in  the  room, 
And  curtains  shut  away  the  night, 

Before  me  in  the  shadows  loom 
My  tranquil  islands  of  delight. 

I  seem  to  see  their  sunny  slopes, 
With  valleys,   misty-veiled  between; 

Their  forests  hung  with  leafy  ropes 
And  vines  of  never  fading  green. 

I  scent  the  breath  of  cassia  buds, 
The  gloria-mundi  as  it  swings; 

I  see  the  parrot  where  it  floods 
The  heavy  air  on  flaming  wings. 

0  placid  rivers  of  the  south, 

Through  still  ravines  you  never  haste! 
With  little  fear  of  dearth  or  drouth 
Your  amber  wealth  runs  all  to  waste. 

1  cleave  again  your  tideless  wave: 

New  Edens  dawn  at  every  turn, 


AVALON 

Where  I  am  greeted  by  the  grave 
Flamingo  and  the  stately  hern. 

A  slim  canoe  with  spicy  freight, 
Steals  by  me  on  its  silent  way; 

The  pale-pink  lilies  undulate 

In  ecstasy,  with  life's  sweet  day. 

The  magic  of  the  gods  is  mine; 

For  in  the  bee's  hum  I  may  hear 
A  secret  that  I  will  divine, 

And  legends  of  the  flowery  year. 

Soft  summer  showers  sweep  through  the 
land, 

The  buds  are  drunk  with  sun  and  dew, 
The  twilight  falls  on  either  hand — 

Lo !  Night  is  coming,  calm  and  blue. 

Along  the  reef  the  sea  is  loud, 
And  tosses  in  its  deep  unrest; 

A  mellow  star  sits  in  a  cloud; 

The  moon  is  falling  to  the  west. 

And  voices  call  me  in  the  air — 

The  dear  sad  voices  that  I  know — 
68 


AVALON 

f'O,  come  away,  while  life  is  fair: 
Come  now !"  they  cry — and  I  would  go, 

While  life  is  fair  and  youth  is  gay. 

O,  how  these  tedious  fetters  thrall! 
"O  come  away!     O  come  away!" 

I  hear  those  plaintive  voices  call. 

How  little  I  the  cost  would  heed, 

If  I  could  rush  upon  the  sea, 
And  hurry  on,  with  tempest  speed, 

To  those  sad  voices  calling  me. 


SAIL   HO! 

I  HEARD  a  rustle  in  my  garden  patch — 
I  saw  a  shadow  bow  beneath  my  thatch — 
One  morning  while  the  dawn  was  break 
ing  fast; 
And,  coming  near,  a  nervous  hand  was 

passed 
Across  my  face,  and  some  one  bade  me 

wake, 
And  "hasten  to  the   cliff,    for  Heaven's 

sake: 

A  sail  was  shining  in  the  eastern  sea!" 
"A  sail !"  I  gasped ;  uthe  Saints  compassion 

me. 

Go  you  and  fire  the  signal-pyre!"  I  said. 
The  shadow  turned,  and  in  a  moment  fled; 
And  soon  I  followed — pale,  and  scant  of 

breath — 
For  on  that  chance  was  staked  my  life  or 

death. 

I  skirted  the  long  shore  of  the  lagoon, 
70 


SAIL  HO! 

Shining  and  moist — shaped  like  a  crescent 
moon — 

And  scaled  the  rocky  battlements  that  rise, 

Like  a  great  wall,  against  the  eastern  skies. 

The  morning  air  blew  down  a  fragrant 
whiff, 

Combing  the  wind-burnt  grasses  on  the 
cliff. 

The  cactus'  thousand  thorny  palms  were 
spread 

Against  a  sun-cloud  hanging,  hot  and  red, 

In  the  horizon;  and  a  little  way 

Off,  in  the  bright,  blue  depths  of  dawning 
day, 

A  fair  and  flickering  atom — star-like, 
pale — 

I  saw  a  sole  and  solitary  sail. 

Then  down  I  knelt  and  prayed.  The  bit 
ing  fire 

Curled  the  green  balsams  of  my  signal- 
pyre, 

And  sent  a  bold  black  shaft  into  the  air, 

That  towered  above  the  shadows  and  grew 
fair, 

Like  to  a  palm  in  stature,  full  of  grace, 

Waving  its  sable  plumes  before  the  face 

71 


SAIL  HO! 

Of  all  the  world;  and,  as  it  would  appear, 
Commanding  that  the  voyager  should  draw 

near. 

I  shut  away  the  sight  in  deep  suspense, 
Half  drugged  with  the  rich  odors  of  the 

dense 

And  multiplying  fumes  that  hung  about, 
And  half  afraid  to  struggle  with  my  doubt. 
The  sun  arose  and  all  the  world  was  gay; 
The  sweet  winds  spirited  the  mists  away, 
I  lifted  up  my  eyes,  where  I  was  bowed, 
And,  through  the  portals  of  a  golden  cloud, 
Beheld  the  vessel,  by  fair  breezes  fanned, 
Trimming  her  sails,  and  making  for  the 

land. 
But  when  she  shaped  her  course  toward 

the  shore, 

And  I  was  sure  my  banishment  was  o'er, 
Somehow  I  was  not  happy — for  I  grew 
So  jealous  of  the  solitude  I  knew, 
And  loved  my  Island  dearer  than  before ! 


72 


MERCY 

IN  his  last  hour  a  good  man  lay  alone, 
His  couch,  the  naked  earth;  his  pillow, 

stone. 

Thus  faithless  fortune  left  him,  in  the  end, 
To  perish  in  the  dark,  without  one  friend. 
Lifting  his  eyes,  in  great  bewilderment, 
He  saw  seven  shining  angels  o'er  him  bent; 
And  with  his  failing  breath  he  cried,  in 

fear, 
"Ye  heavenly  messengers!  what  do  you 

here?" 

Each  angel  in  his  turn  made  low  reply, 
In  voices  of  celestial  melody: 
"I  was  hungered,  and  thou  gavest  meat," 
"I  was  athirst,  thy  draught  was  passing 

sweet." 
"And  I  was  naked,  and  was  clothed  by 

thee;" 

UA  captive  I,  when  thou  didst  ransom  me ;" 
"I  harborless  till  I  thy  harbor  found;" 
73 


MERCY 

"When   I   was   sick  thy  mercy  knew  no 

bound ;" 
Then  the  last  whispered,  as  he  bowed  his 

head, 
"And  thou   didst  bury  me   when   I   was 

dead." 

Now  a  great  glory  filled  the  vault  of  night, 
A  still  small  voice  glowed  like  intensest 

light; 
It  seemed  to  fashion  words  that  were  as 

flame, 

One  flashed  and  faded  as  another  came — 
"And  lo !  as  thou  hast  done  it  unto  these, 
So  hast  thou  done  it  unto  Me."  At  ease 
On  his  cold  bed  the  good  man  breathed  his 

last; 

A  bed  of  roses  now,  and  every  blast 
Was    softer,    sweeter    than    an    infant's 

breath, 
For  the  bright  watchers  by  that  bed  of 

death, 

And  as  the  spirit  left  its  form  of  clay, 
Seven  angels  bore  it  in  their  arms  away. 


74 


INDIANA 

" WHAT'S  in  a  name?"  the  poet  cried: 
Sometimes  less  than  is  implied; 
Sometimes  all — and  more  beside. 

Tell  me,  Indiana,  why 
Thy  name,  so  like  a  lullaby 
Droned  in  wigwam  to  papoose, 
Seemeth  unto  me  a  truce? 
Is  it  that  the  soothing  word — 
Musical  as  song  of  bird — 
Seeks  to  make  in  melody 
What  we  should  not  know  or  see? 
Face  of  nature,  solemn,  proud, 
Wrapped  in  blanket  of  the  cloud. 
Fallow-field  and  tangled  mead — 
Arrow-heads  their  barren  seed. 
Swamp  in  ambush;  stealthy  creek 
Stealing  through  the  meadow  sleek. 
Crafty  snake  that  wimples  by; 
Lake  that  sleeps  with  open  eye ; 
Sandy  soil  the  foot  sinks  in 
75 


INDIANA 

Noiselessly  as  moccasin. 
Ushered  by  a  frown  or  smile 
Stalk  the  seasons  Indian  file; 
Forest  flowers  of  love  and  spring; 
Young  brave,  happily  summering, 
Turns  and  beckons  all  too  soon 
Pale  face  of  the  harvest  moon; 
Secretly,  'twixt  dark  and  dawn, 
Indian-like,  is  summer  gone; 
Blood  upon  the  trail  is  met 
In  the  sullen,  red  sunset. 

Shivering  trees  their  mantles  lose; 
Curling  leaves,  like  weird  canoes, 
Driving  here  and  driving  there 
Sail  the  currents  of  the  air. 
Fade  the  embers  of  life's  fire; 
Fails  the  fountain  of  desire; 
Enter  fever,  famine,  drought; 
Melancholy  prowls   about. 
Drip  the  night  dews,  chilly  damp, 
In  the  now  deserted  camp; 
Wampum  of  the  withered  cone 
Hangs  in  pine-tree  lodge  alone. 
Through  the  branches,  savage,  fleet, 
Tear  the  tomahawks  of  sleet; 


INDIANA 

And  the  frantic  bows  now  toss. 
Come  rebellious  brotherhood — 
War-paint  of  the  autumnal  wood, 
War-whoop  of  the  wintry  wind, 
War-dance  of  the  snows  that  blind, 
Swell  the  bitter,  wild,  intense 
Pow-wow  of  the  elements! 

These,  thy  phases,  treacherous  clime — 
Save  in  Indian-summer  time 
When  warm  hazy  days  abound; 
And  the  poet  seeks  in  rhyme 
Peace-pipe  and  happy  hunting  ground. 


77 


THE   SECRET   WELL 

I  KNOW  a  well  so  deep  and  cool 
And  hid,  the  crystal-hearted  pool 
Hath  never  thrilled  a  swallow's  throat 
Or  sweetened  one  lark's  note. 

No  fainting  stag,  though  perishing, 
Hath  ventured  to  disturb  this  spring: 
No  leopard  with  its  fiery  breast 
This  fountain  dares  molest. 

No  cunning,  silver-cased  trout 
The  sheltered  source  can  e'er  find  out — 
No  tongue  but  mine  may  ever  tell 
The  secret  of  this  well. 

I  build  about  its  guarded  rim 
With  added  stones;  I  know  the  dim, 
'Still  twilight  of  its  mossy  cell 
Where  the  sweet  waters  dwell. 

For  spirits  go  between  us  two 

With  flasks ;  they  brim  with  softest  dew. 

78 


THE  SECRET  WELL 

I  drink  and  am  refreshed,  and  seem 
As  living  in  a  dream. 

This  well,  that  is  alone  for  me, 
Is  but  a  fount  of  memory: 
And  every  year  that  I  have  known 
Is  but  an  added  stone. 

My  willing  thoughts,  as  spirits,  haste 
To  draw  the  draught  I  love  to  taste. 
There  is  an  ever  full  supply, 
Yet  who  may  drink  but  I? 


79 


RESURGAM 

SHALL  I   behold,  what   time   the  snows 

distill 
In    the    soft    wind   along    these    silver 

boughs, 
Crisp  bud  and  curling  leaf — the  golden 

house 

Of  robin  red-breast  and  the  whip-poor- 
will? 

Shall  I  behold  the  sudden  pulse,  the  thrill, 
As  the  rich  blood,  long  dormant,  'gins 

to  rouse 
Among  the  meadows  where  the  cattle 

browse, 

Sad-eyed    and  tranquil,    while   they   take 
their  fill? 

Shall  I  behold  again,  shall  I  behold 
The  slumbering  dead  that  waken  as  of  old 
At  sound  of  a  still  voice  that  quickeneth? 
There  will  I  hymn  thee  to  the  very  skies, 
Spirit  of  lovely  Spring!     I  will  arise — 
I  will  arise  from  out  this  shadow  of 
death. 

80 


IN    CLOVER 

O  SUN !  be  very  slow  to  set; 

Sweet  blossoms  kiss  me  on  the  mouth; 
O  birds!  you  seem  a  chain  of  jet 

Blown  over  from  the  South. 

O  cloud!  press  onward  to  the  hill; 

He  needs  you  for  his  failing  streams. 
The  Sun  shall  be  my  solace  still, 

And  feed  me  with  his  beams. 

O  little  hump-back  bumble-bee ! 

0  smuggler!  breaking  my  repose; 
I'll  slily  watch  you  now  and  see 

Where  all  the  honey  grows. 

Yes,  here  is  room  enough  for  two; 

I'd  sooner  be  your  friend  than  not; 
Forgetful  of  the  world,  as  true, 

1  would  it  were  forgot. 


81 


LITANY  OF  THE  SHRINES 

THE  Angelus  from  rise  to  set  of  sun 
Recalls  us  thrice  unto  our  private  prayers; 
So  may  these  Missions  memories  recall — 
With  their  soft  names,  now  named  one 

after  one — 

Recall  the  pious  life  which  once  was  theirs; 
Recall  their  rise,  alas!  recall  their  fall — 
For  all  too  soon  their  blessed  work  was 

done. 

In  the  far  south  the  sunny  San  Diego, 
Carmelo,    San   Antonio,    each   their   way 

go- 
Dust  unto  dust,  so  crumbles  the  adobe. 
Within    one    year    sprang   up    San    Luis 

Obispo, 

And  San  Antonio,  and  San  Gabriel: 
After  five  years  of  struggle,  San  Francisco, 
And  San  Juan  Capistrano — it  is  well 
To  pause  a  little  now  and  then  if,  so  be, 
Thou  gainest  strength;  good  works  rush 

not  pell-mell. 

82 


LITANY  OF  THE  SHRINES 

Santa  Clara  and  San  Buenaventura, 
Santa  Barbara  and  Purissima; 
And  darling  Santa  Cruz — sanctissima — 
Next  Soledad,  and  then  a  pause  secura. 

Six  years  to  gather  strength,  when  San 

Jose 

And  San  Miguel  and  shortly  San  Fernando 
Were  born  within  a  twelve-month;  what 

can  man  do 

Better  than  this?  And  then  San  Luis  Rey 
Closed  a  long  interval  of  years  eleven — 
Friars  and  neophytes  were  going  to  heaven 
At  such  a  rate! — but  the  good  work  pro 
gressed: 
San  Juan  Bautista  closed  a  century  blest. 

Santa  Inez  and  fair  San  Rafael 
Lead  to  the  final  effort  in  Solano; — 
'Twas  thus  the  missions  rose  and  thus  they 

fell- 
Perchance  a  solitary  boy-soprano, 
Last  of  his  race,  was  left  the  tale  to  tell. 

Ring,  gentle  Angelus !  ring  in  my  dream, 
But  wake  me  not,  for  I  would  rather  seem 

83 


LITANY  OF  THE  SHRINES 

To  live  the  life  they  lived  who've  slum 
bered  long 

Beneath  their  fallen  altars,  than  to  waken 
And  find  their  sanctuaries  thus  forsaken: 
God  grant  their  memory  may  survive  in 
song! 


STIGMATA 

IN  the  wrath  of  the  lips  that  assail  us, 

In  the  scorn  of  the  lips  that  are  dumb, 
The  symbols  of  sorrow  avail  us, 

The  joy  of  the  people  is  come. 
They  parted  Thy  garments  for  barter, 

They  follow  Thy  steps  with  complaint; 
Let  them  know  that  the  pyre  of  the  martyr 

But  purges  the  blood  of  the  saint! 

They  have  crucified  Thee  for  a  token; 

For  a  token  Thy  flesh  crucified 
Shall  bleed  in  a  heart  that  is  broken 

For  love  of  the  wound  in  Thy  side: 
In  pity  for  palms  that  were  pleading, 

For  feet  that  were  grievously  used, 
There  is  blood  on  the  brow  that  is  bleed 
ing 

And    torn,    as    Thy    brow    that    was 
bruised! 

By  Thee  have  we  life,  breath,  and  being; 

85 


STIGMATA 

Thou  hast  knowledge   of  us  and  our 

kind; 
Thou  hast  pleasure  of  eyes  that  are  seeing, 

And  sorrow  of  eyes  that  are  blind; 
By  the  seal  of  the  mystery  shown  us — 
The    wound    that    with    Thy    wounds 

accord — 

O  Lord,  have  mercy  upon  us ! 
Have  mercy  upon  us,  O  Lord! 


86 


SUNSET  FROM  PUU  MAHOE 

I  THREAD  the  path  through  verdant  leas, 
Till,  looking  downward  from  the  height, 

Lo!  dreamy  lands  by  dreamy  seas 
Made  misty  in  the  mellow  light. 

And  ever-wandering  clouds  that  drape 
With  tint  of  pearl,  or  stain  of  blood, 

The  nestling  isle,  the  distant  cape 
That  sinks  into  yon  purple  flood. 

And  overhead  the  jewelled  plain, 

Where  shadows  deepen  as  they  close — 

But  deepening,  neither  blot  nor  stain- 
The  sweetest  blue  that  heaven  knows. 

O  perfect  sight — more  perfect  still 
For  being  sought  in  happy  mood — 

How  many  hearts  might  pulse  and  thrill 
Within  this  seeming  solitude! 

And  have  the  ages  wrought  so  long; 
Must  all  this  beauty  go  to  make 

8? 


SUNSET  FROM  PUU  MAHOE 

A  thought  to  perish  in  a  song, 

One  picture  for  one  creature's  sake? 

No!  rather  think  this  fair  expanse 
May  be  the  margin  of  that  shore 

Swept  over  with  seraphic  glance 
By  spirits  that  we  know  no  more. 


SANCTUARY 

SURELY  some  sacrilegious  hand 

Hath  robbed  the  temples  of  their  store 
Of  relics,  up  and  down  the  land, 

And  hurled  the  altars  o'er. 

And  strewn  the  treasures  all  among 
These  quiet  valleys.     As  I  walk 

I  find  a  pearly  rosary  hung 
Upon  this  lily  stalk. 

Hath  timid  maid,  or  tearful  nun 
Bethought  her  of  this  lone  retreat 

Yet,  with  her  "Ave"  scarce  begun, 
Her  prayer-beads  at  her  feet, 

Intruders  bid  her  quickly  fly, 
And  flying,  frighted,  she  forgets 

That  where  she  knelt  in  secret  lie 
Her  glittering  amulets. 


SANCTUARY 

Alas !  how  poor,  how  desolate 

The  place  where  man  strode  rudely  by, 
The  pink  no  more  shall  elevate 

Its  chalice  to  the  sky. 

And  here  are  bleeding  roses  shorn 
Along  the  hedge — by  shearer  vext, 

Rare  antique  rubrics — roughly  torn 
From  that  quaint  leafy  text. 

And  thistle-aspergills  bestrew 

Meek  buds  that  nestle  at  their  side 

With  holy  drops  of  luscious  dew 
That  night  hath  sanctified. 

The  morning-glory's  fragile  cup 
A  lucent  honey-drop  could  boast; 

Fair  monstrance — it  is  broken  up, 
And  veiled  is  the  Host. 


And  what  is  this  that  greeteth  me, 
The  Calla,  that  I  prize  above 

All  lilies?  so  I  mention  thee, 
O !  lily  of  my  love — 
90 


SANCTUARY 

A  perfumed  satin  altar  cloth 

With  one  tall,  golden  candlestick; 

A  velvet  butterfly's  the  moth 
That  frets  thy  rosy  wick. 

Thy  spotless  napkin  doth  enfold 
Such  balm  and  costly  frankincense, 

As  shrouds  the  swinging  censer's  gold 
In  clouds  that  struggle  thence. 

But  now  I  hear  the  vesper  call 
Of  floating  air-bells,  deftly  tipt; 

The  dove's  at  her  confessional — 
The  monk-mole  in  his  crypt. 


And  flowery  fields  my  eyes  engage; 

The  rivulets,  the  winding  ways — 
A  missal,  whose  illumined  page 

Is  given  up  to  praise. 

So  if  none  false  hath  donned  the  gown 
And  sought  the  votive  priest  to  play, 

Then  thrown  the  sacred  altars  down 
And  hid  the  charms  away — 


SANCTUARY 

Dear  Nature  is  the  saint  that  rears 
This  sanctuary  to  our  God — 

And  still  renews  through  all  the  years 
Where  hateful  feet  have  trod. 


92 


VALE 

HE  had  the  soul  of  truth, 
Strong  with  the  strength  of  youth ; 
He  had  the  gift  of  wit, 
With  love  to  sweeten  it. 
He  knew  not  fear  or  shame: 
When  the  destroyer  came, 
When  death  betrayed  the  fall, 
He  could  surrender  all, 

Putting  the  world  aside. 
For  time  had  proved  him, 
And  the  gods  loved  him 

That  he  died. 


93 


IN    A    CLOISTER 

A  FAIR  white  tower,  where  doves  as  white 

as  snow 
Flutter,  the  while  three  bells  swing  to  and 

fro; 
A  garden  and  a  cloister  hid  below. 

A  summer  garden  full  of  calm  delight; 
A  cloister  wreathed  with  roses,  red  and 
white : 

A   row   of   lilies   meek,    that   hold   their 

breath, 
As  pale  and  mute  and  passionless  as  death : 

Curtained  beyond  a  leafy  screen,  the  bees 
Drone  their  monotonous,  sweet  Litanies: 

A  fountain  lisping  the  responses,  caught 
On    the    still    airs,    with    heavy    incense 
fraught : 

And  all  within  an  Island  in  the  wild 
And  wide  Lagoon;  an  Island  Sanctified; 
Walled  by  the  golden  flood,  the  glowing 
amber  tide. 

94 


THE    STORMY    PETREL 

ABOVE  the  rough  sea's  climbing  crest 
The  sunbeams  flashed  afar, 

And  smote  the  Phaeton's  silver  breast, 
That  sparkled  like  a  star. 

A  wail  was  in  the  rising  gale, 

A  wail  both  long  and  low; 
The  sailors  flew  to  shorten  sail, 

The  landsmen  crept  below. 

We  faced  the  fury  of  the  blast; 

A  head-sea  swept  the  deck — 
\  great  wave  leaped  upon  the  mast, 

And  threatened  total  wreck. 

No  man  but  with  the  spray  was  blind — 
No  galley  fires  would  burn — 

No  sound  but  of  the  awful  wind 
That  shrieked  from  stem  to  stern. 
95 


THE  STORMY  PETREL 

Yet  with  a  quick  and  fearful  glance 

That  now  my  bosom  thrills, 
I  saw  the  stormy  petrel  dance 

Among  the  watery  hills. 

And  where  the  hissing  bubbles  sprawled 
With  weird  and  impish  form, 

The  dancing  petrel  clucked  and  called 
The  devils  of  the  storm. 


A  RHYME  OF  THE  OLD  YEAR 

WHO  killed  the  Old  Year? 

"I,"  said  Sparrow  Time; 

"So  put  me  in  the  rhyme — 
I  killed  the  Old  Year." 


Who  saw  him  die  ? 

"I,"  said  the  Morning  Star; 

"While  watching  from  afar, 
I  saw  him  die." 


Who  caught  his  blood? 

"I,"  said  each  Man  and  Maid; 

"I  caught  a  drop  that  will  not  fade, 
For  it  is  his  blood." 


Who'll  weave  his  shroud? 

"I,"  said  Memory; 

"Of  flowers  fair  to  see 
I'll  weave  his  shroud." 
97 


A  RHYME  OF  THE  OLD  YEAR 

Who'll  dig  his  grave? 

"I,"  said  Oblivion; 

"For,  sure,  it  must  be  done — 
I'll  dig  his  grave." 

Who'll  be  chief  mourner? 

"I,"  said  Sad  Regret; 

"As  I  am  fittest  yet, 
I'll  be  chief  mourner." 

Who'll  come  and  sing? 

"We,"  said  Hope  and  Trust; 

"We'll  sing  above  his  dust — 
We'll  come  and  sing." 

Who'll  toll  the  bell? 

"I,"  said  the  Broken  Heart; 

"I  can  toll — it  asks  no  art; 
I'll  toll  the  bell." 

And  so  the  service 

Is  sung  and  said 
Over  the  pitiful 

Year  that  is  dead. 


RETURN 

OUT  of  the  sunset,  in  a  Summer  land, 
Led  by  the  South  wind  from  a  coral  strand, 
A  prodigal  I  come  at  Christmas  Eve, 
Love   in   my   heart   and  heart   upon   my 
sleeve. 

'Tis  here  I  seek  the  love  of  long  ago 
And  find  it,  radiant  as  an  afterglow. 
Have  I  been  absent,  say — or  can  it  be 
That  I  have  dreamed  that  life  beyond  the 
sea? 

I  cannot  tell  you,  for  so  true  you  seem, 
Which  is  reality  and  which  is  dream: 
But  if  I  dream  to-night  I  pray  you  then, 
uOh,    do   not   wake   me — let   me   dream 
again." 


99 


OLD    MONTEREY 

SLEEP  on   in   thy  sunny  sand-dunes  and 

slumber  in  thy  byways; 
In  the  hollow  of  thy  drowsy  hills,  lo! 

sleep  and  the  shadow  of  death. 
Dream   on,   O   dear   enchantress,   of   the 

babel  that  filled  thy  highways, 
When  passionate  throngs  sang  thy  song 
of    songs    and    a    war-cry    was    thy 
breath. 

Now  in  thy  listless  languor,  lo!  the  encir 
cling  sea-mew — 
Gulls  in  the  wild  sea-gardens;  and  the 

curve  of  the  lateen  sail 
As  it  cleaves  like  a  silver  scimitar  the  mist 

of  the  sea;  and  dream  you 
Of  the  treasure  vast  and  the  glory  past 
— the  visions  of  no  avail. 

Dream  of  the  splendid  trappings  of  the 

troops  that  met  and  mingled — 

100 


OLD  MONTEREY 


Mexican  cavaleros  and  hidalgos  of  old 

Castile : 
Hark  to  the  music  of  the  spurs  of  silver 

that  jolted  and  jingled; 
And  loudly  laugh,  as  the  wine  you  quaff, 

at  the  past  beyond  appeal. 

Where  are   they  now,   O   dreamer?  thy 

treasures  have  vanished  whither? 
Thou  who  wast  first  to  the  headland- 
front  and  Queen  of  the  western  sea: 
Long  have  I  watched  and  have  waited  and 

have  wandered  hither  and  thither 
Asking  a  word  with  a  voice  unheard  and 
now  I  would  ask  it  of  thee. 

The  bitter  tang  of  the  sea  is  ours  and  the 

winds  forever  roaming; 
The  fleecy  crest  of  the  breaking  wave 

and  the  ribbons  of  streaming  kelp ; 
The  fishers  mending  their  nets  in  the  sun, 

and  the  crickets  in  the  gloaming, 
And  the  seal's  gruff  bark,  in  the  dew  and 
the  dark,  and  the  whine  of  her  hungry 
whelp. 

101 


OLD  MONTEREY 


The  wind  and  the  wave  pour  over  the 

rocks  that  are  barren  and  bony; 
Like    ghosts    of    avalanches    the    fog 

sweeps  down  from  the  heights: 
The  star-fish  sprawl  in  the  briny  meadows; 

the  abalone 

Hides,  where  it  lies,  its  rainbow  dyes 
in  a  dome  of  dim  delights. 

There  is  spice  of  the  pine  in  plenty  and 

oak  and  the  cypress  tangle; 
And  the  bleaching  bones  of  the  strand 
whale,  and  sea-shells  near  and  far — 
No  soft  refrain  of  old,  old  Spain,  or  voices 

in  musical  wrangle; 

Nor  the  click  of  the  clashing  castanets 
nor  the  throb  of  the  hushed  guitar. 

There  is  never  a  day  in  the  year  but  tells 

of  thy  glory  gone  forever, 
And  never  a  dusk  that  hovers  near  in 

the  sea-shell  pink  of  the  sky, 
But  we  sit  in  the  chill  adobe  shade  with 

hearts  that  are  past  endeavor — 
While  the  mists  unfurl  like  the  gates  of 
pearl,  as  we  watch  the  daylight  die. 
102 


YO-SEMITE   FALLS 

O,  UNDER  Heaven!  is  there  one 
More  lovely  offspring  of  the  snow, 

So  cherished  by  the  constant  Sun, 
So  fostered  by  the  gale  below? 

In  what  far  angel-haunted  spring 

Hast  thou,  fair  stream,  thy  happy  birth? 

What  is  thy  will  that  thou  shouldst  fling 
Thy    slender    form    from    Heaven    to 
earth? 

The  cloud  thy  sister  is,  the  rain 

Thy  brother;  and  thy  form  inclined 

Most  spirit  like,  has  often  lain 

Within  the  broad  arms  of  the  wind. 

Thy  trailing  silver  laces  sway 
Upon  the  air  how  constantly ! — 

Thy  misty  tissue  lifts  away 
A  swinging  ladder  to  the  sky. 
103 


YO-SEMITE  FALLS 

Forever  falling,  and  to  fall 
Forever  from  that  cloudy  gate, 

And  crying  with  incessant  call 
Against  the  tumult  of  thy  fate. 

The  valley  takes  thee,  trembling  stream, 
In  smoky  fragments  on  its  breast; 

Wake,  giddy  leaper,  from  thy  dream. 
Here  is  at  last  some  peaceful  rest. 


104 


AT  POINT  LOBOS 

CLEAR  noon  without  obscurity, 

No  flake  of  cloud  'twixt  heaven  and  me; 

No  mist  athwart  the  Golden  Gate: 
The  hearty  sun  doth  willfully 

His  profuse  beams  precipitate. 

I  cling  to  humped  rocks  that  kneel 
On  unswept  sands,  where  breakers  reel 

In  splendid  curves,  and  pile  their  foam 
In  spongy  hills,  that  slow  congeal, 

And  dulce  and  drift-wood  find  a  home. 

We  clasp  the  silver  crescent  set 
Within  the  hazy  parapet 

That  belts  the  horizon:  and  in  glee 
I  count  the  fitful  puffs  that  fret 

The  eternal  levels  of  the  sea. 

I  watch  the  waves  that  seem  to  breathe 
And  pant  unceasingly  beneath 

Their  silken  coverings,  that  cringe, 
105 


AT  POINT  LOBOS 

As  flecked  with  swirls  of  froth,  they  seethe, 
And  whip,  and  flutter  to  a  fringe. 

Brown  pipers  run  upon  the  sand 
Like  shadows;  far  out  from  the  land 

Gray  gulls  slide  up  against  the  blue; 
One  shining  spar  is  sudden  manned 

By  squadrons  of  their  wrecking  crew. 

My  city  is  beyond  the  hill; 
I  cannot  hear  its  voices  shrill: 

I  little  heed  its  gains  and  greeds; 
Here  is  my  song,  where  waters  spill 

Their  liquid  strophes  in  the  reeds. 

And  to  this  music  I  forswear 
Whatever  soils  the  world  with  care: 

I  see  the  listless  waters  toss — 
I  track  the  swift  lark  through  the  air — 

I  lie  with  sunlight  on  the  moss. 

White  caravans  of  cloud  go  by 
Across  the  desert  of  bright  sky, 

And  burly  winds  are  following 
The  trailing  pilgrims,  as  they  fly 

Over  the  grassy  hills  of  spring. 
106 


AT  POINT  LOBOS 

What  Mecca  are  they  hastening  to? 
What  princess  journeying  to  woo 

In  the  rich  Orient?     I  am  thrilled 
With  spice  and  odor  they  imbue — 

I  feed  upon  their  manna  spilled! 

I  strip  my  breast  with  eager  mind, 
To  tarry  and  invite  the  wind 

To  my  embrace :  by  curious  spell 
It  quickens  me  with  praises  kind — 

Tis  Ariel  that  blows  his  shell ! 

Invisible,  and  soft  as  dews 
Descending,  he  his  love  renews, 

Delighting  daisy  colonies 
That  gloss  them  with  the  lustrous  ooze 

Of  meadows  steeped  in  ecstasies. 

Until  the  homely,  sunburnt  Heads, 
The  tumbling  hills,  in  browns  and  reds, 

And  gray  sand-hillocks,  everywhere 
Are  buried  in  the  mist  that  sheds 

Its  subtle  snow  upon  the  air. 

And  Prospero,  aroused  from  sleep, 
Recalls  his  spirits  from  the  deep — 
107 


AT  POINT  LOBOS 

They  cross  the  wave  with  stealthy  tread, 
Their  shadows  down  upon  me  sweep — 
And  day  is  past,  and  joy  is  fled. 

I  hear  the  dismal  bells  that  shout 
Their  warning  to  the  ships  without: 

The    dripping    sails    are    reefed    and 

furled, 
The  pilots  sound  and  grope  about — 

The  Gate  is  barred  against  the  world ! 


108 


THE   ANGELUS 

AT  dawn,  the  joyful  choir  of  bells 

In  consecrated  citadels, 

Flings  on  the  sweet  and  drowsy  air, 
A  brief,  melodious  call  to  prayer; 

For  Mary,  Virgin  meek  and  lowly, 

Conceived  of  the  Spirit  Holy, 
As  the  Lord's  angel  did  declare. 

Ave  Maria! 

At  noon,  above  the  fretful  street, 

Our  souls  are  lifted  to  repeat 

The  prayer,  with  low  and  wistful  voice- 

uAccording  to  Thy  word,  and  choice, 
Though  sorrowful  and  heavy  laden, 
So  be  it  to  Thy  handmaiden!" 

Then  all  the  sacred  bells  rejoice — 

Ave  Maria! 

At  eve,  with  roses  in  the  west, 
The  daylight's  withering  bequest, 
109 


THE  ANGELUS 

Ring,  prayerful  bells,  while  blossom  bright 
The  stars,  the  lilies  of  the  night; 

Of  all  the  songs  the  years  have  sung  us, 
"The  Word  made  flesh  has  dwelt  among 


us," 


Is  still  our  ever  new  delight. 

Ave  Maria! 


no 


LAHAINA 

WHERE  the  wave  tumbles; 
Where  the  reef  rumbles; 
Where  the  sea  sweeps 

Under  bending  palm-branches, 
Sliding  its  snow-white 

And  swift  avalanches : 
Where  the  sails  pass 
O'er  an  ocean  of  glass. 

Or  trail  their  dull  anchors 
Down  in  the  sea-grass. 

Where  the  hills  smoulder; 
Where  the  plains  smoke; 
Where  the  peaks  shoulder 

The  clouds  like  a  yoke ; 
Where  the  dear  isle 
Has  a  charm  to  beguile 

As  she  lies  in  the  lap 
Of  the  seas  that  enfold  her. 
in 


LAHAINA 

Where  shadows  falter; 
Where  the  mist  hovers 
Like  steam  that  covers 

Some  ancient  altar. 


Where  the  sky  rests 
On  deep  wooded  crests; 

Where  the  clouds  lag; 
Where  the  sun  floats 
His  glittering  motes 
Swimming  the  rainbows 

That  girdle  the  crag. 


Where  the  newcomer 
In  deathless  summer 

Dreams  away  troubles; 
Where  the  grape  blossoms 

And  blows  its  sweet  bubbles; 
Where  the  goats  cry 

From  the  hillside  corral; 
Where  the  fish  leap 

In  the  weedy  canal — 
In  the  hollow  lagoon 

With  its  waters  forsaken; 
112 


LAHAINA 

Where  the  dawn  struggles 
With  night  for  an  hour, 

Then  breaks  like  a  tropical 
Bird  from  its  bower. 

Where  from  the  long  leaves 
The  fresh  dew  is  shaken; 

Where  the  wind  sleeps 

And  where  the  birds  waken. 


TO   A   SON    OF   THE   SOIL 

WITHOUT  the  man  with  the  seed 

Who  would  do  the  sowing? 
Without  the  man  with  the  hoe 

Who  would  do  the  hoeing? 
Without  the  man  with  the  scythe 

Who  would  do  the  mowing? 
God  is  the  God  of  us  all — 

Blessings  well  bestowing. 

Son  of  the  son  of  the  soil — 

Earth  our  fost'ring  mother, — 
Without  the  rich  and  the  poor 

Who  would  help  the  other? 
Without  the  call  to  do  good 

Each  one  to  another, 
Sad  were  the  world.     Here's  a  hand, 

Brother, — O  my  brother! 


114 


THE    FIRST    RAIN 

BETWEEN  the  ranks  of  thistle,  down  the 

road, 

The  phantom  flocks  of  sunbeams  hastily, 
With  gilded  feathers  of  the  butterfly, 
Disperse  away;  anon  a  weary  load 
Of    grain,    wild    scented,    being    freshly 

mowed, 

Comes  smoking  on;  as  from  the  brood 
ing  sky 
There  fall  deliberate,  still  showers  of 

shy 
Big  rain-drops  all  around.    The  teamsters 

goad 

The  swaying  oxen,  steaming,  to  a  shed 
For  covering.     The  brown  and  dusty 

trees 

Are  whispering,  as  eagerly  they  spread 
Their  branches  in  the  rain,  and  stand 

at  ease, 

And  listen,  yonder  in  the  clover  bed 
The   happy  buzzing  of   ten  thousand 
bees! 


WIND   AND   WAVE 

0  WHEN  I  hear  at  sea 
The  water  on  our  lee, 

I  fancy  that  I  hear  the  wind 
That  combs  my  hemlock  tree : 

But  when  beneath  that  tree 

1  listen  eagerly, 

I  seem  to  hear  the  rushing  wave 
I  heard  far  out  at  sea. 


116 


MAIDEN    LOVE 

LOVE,  maiden  Love,  cries  not  within  the 

gates 
Where  sit  the  watchers,  watching  hour 

by  hour; 
Love   hideth  by  the   wayside   and  Love 

waits 
Breathless  within  her  bower. 

For  faint  her  voice  and  very  sweet  to  hear, 
And  dim  her  form,  yet  very  fair  to  see, 

O  Love !  my  Love !  it  quiets  all  my  fear 
And  hourly  comforts  me. 

Who  blindly  loves,   and  boldly,   he   but 

errs; 
Love  answers  not  to  each  and  all  who 

cry; 
Perchance    this    Love    her    willing    love 

prefers 

To  those  who  pass  her  by. 
117 


MAIDEN  LOVE 

They  know  not  where  to  seek  her  and  to 

find; 
They  wander  after  her  from  night  till 

morn; 

Their  messages  are  wasted  on  the  wind 
And  all  in  all  forlorn. 

Yet  who  shall  lead  the  lover  to  his  Love, 
Or  lead  his  Love  to  him,  to  ease  his 
sigh? 

No  one  I  wot  of  out  of  Heaven  above — 
In  sooth,  not  you,  or  I ! 


118 


SAMARITANS 

I  HEARD  a  tender  voice,  as  one 

That  cried  from  out  the  wilderness, 

"Come  hitherward,  our  longing  son, 
The  woods  thy  heart  shall  bless." 

I  took  in  hand  my  trusty  staff, 
And  sailed  across  the  narrow  sea; 

I  of  the  running  brooks  could  quaff, 
The  land  would  nourish  me. 

I  said:    "Mine  host  can  well  afford, 
His  cup  is  sweetened  to  the  brim. 

Now,  whoso  asks  me  to  his  board 
I  will  partake  with  him." 

All  day  I  watched  the  country  road, 
All  day  my  hopeful  heart  was  kind; 

But  no  man  said  where  he  abode 
I  would  a  welcome  find. 
119 


SAMARITANS 

All  day  I  sought  a  friend,  all  day 

My  soul  was  fruitless  in  the  search; 

Men  passed  in  silence  on  their  way, 
And  left  me  in  the  lurch. 


They  passed  me  on  the  other  side, 
I  shivered  in  the  clouding  dusks. 

At  last  I  cried,  "Must  I  abide 
In  hunger  with  the  husks?" 

A  fir  tree  spread  her  matted  eaves, 

The  moss  grew  soft  beneath  my  head, 

The  wind  swept  over  me  the  leaves, 
And  furnished  all  my  bed. 

Some  robins  called  me  at  the  dawn 
In  matin  time:  we  said  our  prayers; 

Then  seeing  all  my  breakfast  gone 
They  gave  me  some  of  theirs. 

They  showed  me  where  the  berries  grew, 
They  found  me  a  delicious  spring; 

We  drank  a  jolly  toast  or  two, 
And  laughed  like  anything. 
120 


SAMARITANS 

We  talked  about  the  city  folk 
Across  our  berries  and  our  drink: 

"They  can't  see  heaven  for  the  smoke," 
Said  Master  Bob  o'  Link. 

We  laughed  all  day  in  huge  delight, 
And  sang  and  gossiped  unafraid; 

When  lo !  at  coming  of  the  night 
My  bed  was  still  unmade. 

I  said,  "I'd  better  turn  about," 

But  they  opposed  me  in  a  breath. 

I  didn't  like  that  sleeping  out, 
Lest  I  should  catch  my  death. 

They  begged  me  to  remain  awhile, 

And    proffered   nests;    but    they    were 
small. 

With  songs  they  strove  me  to  beguile 
Without  a  bed  at  all. 

Then  berries  are  so  plain  a  dish, 
And  water  tasteless  on  the  whole, 

And  still  there  was  the  endless  wish 
That  haunts  my  restless  soul. 

121 


SAMARITANS 

I  said :  "Sweet-voiced  and  winged  friends, 
You  build  your  homes  within  my  heart; 

But    distance  —  sometimes  —  something 

lends — 
One  glass  before  we  part!" 

We  drank  a  toast  at  parting  there; 

"A  speech,"  they  cried,  with  one  accord. 
Oh,  there  was  music  in  the  air 

Till  order  was  restored! 

They  followed  to  the  city  boat, 
Then  in  a  body  gave  me  cheers; 

I  drank  the  sweetness  of  each  note 
Into  my  thirsting  ears. 

I  made  a  speech  of  compliment: 
If  country  life  should  prove  a  bore, 

"My  room  is  yours  quite  free  of  rent, 
I'll  feed  you  at  the  door. 

"You  will  not  find  our  city  streets 
So  soft  and  sweet  a  place  of  rest; 

Not  every  friendly  face  -one  meets 
Has  love  within  the  breast. 

122 


SAMARITANS 

"You  are  the  friends  I  find  most  true, 
For  you  were  kind  when  no  one  bid. 

In  trusting  you  I  only  do 
As  old  Elijah  did." 


123 


IN    CONFERENCE 

IF  I  could  fly  the  hateful  town, 
And  flying,  suddenly  discover 

Some  velvet  valley,  softly  brown, 
With  hills  that  elbow  one  another — 

Those  robust  hills;  so  resolute 

And  satisfied,  with  brawny  shoulders 

Set  close  together,  in  their  mute, 
Firm  way,  that  startles  us  beholders, 

And  gathered  close  about  my  vale, 
To  nurse  it,  sitting  still  together, 

Its  body-guard  in  autumn  mail, 

Like  Arabs  in  their  cloaks  of  leather, 

I  would  dispose  myself  among 

Their  surging  waves  of  grain,  beseech 
ing 

Some  brief  translation  of  their  tongue, 
Some    knowledge    of    their    healthful 
preaching. 

124 


IN  CONFERENCE 

Oh !  pleasure  for  a  spirit  vext, 
A  listening,  after  introduction, 

To  whispered  echoes  of  their  text, 
And  volumes  of  their  pure  instruction; 

While  ever  from  the  valley's  rim 
The  wind  p-eeps  over  as  it  passes, 

And  merrily  and  mild  for  him, 

Blows  silver  clouds  across  the  grasses; 

Brings  down  an  apple  with  his  hail — 
Plump  skin — was  ever  apple  riper? 

And  frights,  in  hasty  whirr,  a  quail 
That  was  my  musical  chief  piper. 

Full-bosomed  quail  in  mottled  casque 
And  plume,  and  silken  bib  to  cover 

Your  panting  throat,  I  only  ask, 
Return  again  unto  your  lover! 

Now  swoops  an  inky  cloud  of  birds 

Into  the  valley's  deepest  dimple ; 
They  storm  me  with  their  teasing  words, 
Yet    please    me    with    their    gambols 
simple. 

125 


IN  CONFERENCE 

I  wish  those  five  in  epaulets 

Of  rose  would  quell  the  boisterous  greet 
ing; 
But  I  suppose  each  one  forgets 

He  interrupts  my  quiet  meeting. 

Their  little  hearts  with  song-delight 
Are  over-full — sufficient  reason; 

The  pretty  things  are  pardoned  quite 
For  only  singing  out  of  season. 

Was  that  a  sprinkle  on  my  face, 

Descending  from  this  sky  of  blueness? 

Baptism  in  this  holy  place 

Is  fitting;  for  a  sense  of  newness 

Pervades  these  vestibules  of  earth — 
Sacristies,  most  securely  hidden — 

These  halls,  appropriate  to  new  birth, 
Where  all  unto  the  feast  are  bidden. 

How  silent  has  the  valley  grown — 

The   birds   have   hushed   their   playful 

riot; 

A  murmur,  as  a  bee's  dull  drone, 
Is  all  that  stirs  the  perfect  quiet. 
126 


IN  CONFERENCE 

Transparent  curtains  of  the  rain 

Are  sweeping  down  to  me,  delighting 

The  dusty  trees ;  where  I  have  lain 

The  broken  grasses  now  are  righting. 

The  swarms  of  blackbirds  lift  away; 

The  most  demoralized  of  creatures 
Myself  will  be,  if  I  delay — 

So  now,  farewell,  my  wholesome  preach 
ers! 

With  your  broad  foreheads  in  the  mist, 
You  cannot  show  a  sign  of  sorrow; 

But  you  are  honest,  keep  the  tryst — 
I'll  worship  with  you  on  to-morrow. 


127 


BY   THE    BROOK 

DOWN  across  the  hill's  low  brow — 

A  slender,  silver  fillet — 
Nothing  is  so  musical 

As  my  little  rillet. 
Ah!  that  laughing  song  of  yours! 

Delicately  trill  it. 

Shall  I  fret  you,  hasty  brook? 

Shall  I  mar  your  paces — 
Weaver,  weaving  silver  threads 

Into  silver  laces, 
Round  about  and  in  and  out 

The  sunniest  of  places? 

Loose  your  tresses  in  the  chase, 

Slip  about  the  border 
Of  yon  garden  wall,  and  catch 

A  blossom,  gay  marauder! 
What  shall  please  my  love  of  ease 

As  your  sweet  disorder? 
128 


BY  THE  BROOK 

While  the   world  goes  jogging  on, 

Presently  I  miss  you; 
Life  is  made  of  other  stuff 

Than  your  limpid  tissue. 
Turn  a  mill,  you  lazy  rill, 

While  I  wait  the  issue. 

Let  the  beetle  while  away 

The  Summer  with  its  drumming, 
Foam  you  at  the  whirling  wheel, 

And  babble  to  its  humming. 
Toil  away  the  livelong  day — 

It  is  more  becoming. 

Creep  beneath  the  sweeping  bough, 
While  each  ripple  twinkles, 

Starlike,  in  a  sky  of  leaves, 
And  your  frothy  crinkles 

Form  a  leathern  apron  there, 
Full  of  creamy  wrinkles. 

When  the  bald  and  brazen  day 
Hath  donned  his  dusky  visor, 

Still  you  flow  a-down  apace, 

While  night's  myriad  eyes  are 

Watching  you;  for  what  they  view 
No  one  is  the  wiser. 
129 


THROUGH   THE   SHADOWS 

ALL  in  a  dream  in  the  twilight, 
Glimmering  stars  in  their  glee, 

List  to  the  murmur  of  far-off 
Ripples  of  tropic  sea. 

Low  in  the  westward  bleeding 
The  sun  slowly  sinks  in  the  wave — 

Staining  and  tinting  with  crimson 
The  corals  that  fashion  his  grave. 

Out  through  the  mist  and  the  vapor, 
The  cloudy  wreaths  and  the  rings, 

Sunlight  has  flown  like  a  butterfly 
Brushing  the  gold  from  its  wings. 

Quiet  is  coming  and  folding 

Our  troubles  away;  and  our  woes 
Are  hushed  in  the  cool,  fragrant  shad 
ows, 

Like  bees  in  the  heart  of  a  rose. 
130 


THROUGH  THE  SHADOWS 

Come  on  little  stars  all  silver, 
For  the  terrible  sun  has  gone, 

And  out  of  the  eastern  shadows 
The  moon  sets  sail  for  the  dawn. 

Pale  are  the  stars — for  the  morning 
Is  blooming  fresh  as  the  May; 

So  through  the  shadows  we  wander, 
Seeking  the  perfect  day. 


YO-SEMITE 

INNUMERABLE  lessons  to  relate 

And  myriad  voices  rushing  to  baptize 
These  chosen  lips,  which  send  into  the 

skies 

Their  oracles,  to  awe  and  elevate. 
The  world's  chief  mouth-piece  is  this  mar 
velous  gate, 

That  lavish  nature  wholly  sanctifies 
With  majesty  and  beauty.     Here  my 

eyes 

Some  revelation  seem  to  penetrate; 
For  God,   begetting  mysteries   from  the 

first, 

All  glorified,  stood  down  upon  the  rock, 
And  smiting  through,  the  curious  earth 

was  riven — 

A  thousand  silver  arteries  were  burst — 
The  mountains  staggered  from  the  fear 
ful  shock, 

With  heart  laid  bare  to  the  soft  eyes  of 
Heaven. 

132 


TAMALPAIS 

How  glorious  thy  dwelling  place! 
How  manifold  thy  beauties  are ! 

I  do  not  reckon  time  or  space — 

I  worship  thy  exceeding  grace, 
And  hasten,  as  a  flying  star, 
To  reach  thy  splendor  from  afar. 

The  first  flush  of  thy  morning  face 
Is  dear  to  me;  thy  shadowless, 
Broad  noon  that  doth  all  sweets  confess; 

But  fairer  is  thy  even-fall, 

When  seem  to  cry  with  airy  call 
Thy  roses  in  the  wilderness. 

Thy  deserts  blithely  blossoming, 

Decoy  me  for  the  love  of  Spring. 

With  all  thy  glare  and  glitter  spent, 

Thy  quiet  dusk  so  eloquent; 
Thy  veil  of  vapors — the  caress 

Of  Zephyrus,  right  cool  and  sweet — 
I  cannot  wait  to  love  thee  less — 

I  cling  to  thee  with  full  content, 
And  fall  a-dreaming  at  thy  feet. 
133 


TAMALPAIS 

Anon  the  sudden  evening  gun 

Awakes  me  to  the  sinking  sun 
And  golden  glories  at  the  Gate. 

The  full,  strong  tides,  that  slowly  run, 
Their  sliding  waters  modulate 
To  indolent  soft  winds  that  wait 

And  lift  a  long  web  newly  spun. 
I  see  the  groves  of  scented  bay, 

And  night  is  in  their  fragrant  mass; 
But  tassel-shadows  swing  and  sway, 
And  spangles  flash  and  fade  away 

Upon  their  glimmering  leaves  of  glass — 
And  there  a  fence  of  rail,  quite  gray, 

With  ribs  of  sunlight  in  the  grass — 
And  here  a  branch  full  well  arrayed 
With  struggling  beams  a  moment  stayed — 
Like  panting  butterflies  afraid. 


Lo !  shadows  slipping  down  the  slope 
And  filling  every  narrow  vale, 
The  shining  waters  growing  pale — 
The  mellow-burning  star  of  Hope 
And  in  the  wave  its  silver  trope. 
A  slender  shallop,  feather-frail, 
A  pencil-mast  and  rocking  sail. 
134 


TAMALPAIS 

The  glooms  that  gather  at  the  Gate ; 
The  somber  lines  against  the  sky, 
While  dizzy  gnats  about  me  fly, 
And  overhead  the  birds  go  by, 
Dropping  a  note  so  crystal  clear, 
The  spirit  cannot  choose  but  hear. 
The  hollow  moon,  and  up  between 
An  oak  with  yard-long  mosses,  green 

In  sunlight,  now  as  dull  as  crepe; 

The  mountain  softened  in  its  shape, 
Its  perfect  symmetry  attained — 
And  swathed  in  velvet  folds,  and  stained 

With  dusty  purple  of  the  grape. 


135 


DRIFTING 

A  LARK'S  song  rippled  in  the  air, 

With  liquid  trill  that  smote  the  dawn, 
He  hastened  down  the  dewy  lawn 

And  found  the  morning  breezes  fair; 

And  half  the  anchor-cable  in, 

And  half  the  sails  were  loosed,  and  full 
Of  salty  winds;  with  steady  pull 

He  bade  the  frothing  eddies  spin 

And  whirl  about  his  dripping  oar, 
As  on  he  sped  and  joined  the  bark; 
Then  from  the  deck  he  leaned  to  mark 

The  wondrous  beauty  of  the  shore. 

They  seemed  as  falling  scales,  his  tears, 
From  blinded  eyes,  that  would  not  see 
How  comfort  in  that  home  could  be, 

Though  comfort  kept  him  all  his  years. 

136 


DRIFTING 

High  on  the  yard  a  sailor  sang: 
"O!  dusky  love  beyond  the  sea; 
O!  dusky  love  that  longs  for  me" — 

"And  thee,"  the  mocking  echoes  rang. 

"There  is  a  glory  in  the  gale — 
An  idle  dream  will  suit  the  calm, 
And  talk  of  leafy  thatch  and  palm — 

Shall  fill  the  watch  with  song  and  tale. 

"Lo !  yonder  is  the  star  that  guides 
The  mariner;  we  lift  our  hands 
About  the  world,  in  many  lands; 

For  what  are  winds,  and  what  are  tides, 

"But  spirits  luring  us  abroad? 

Rise  fragrant  isles  before  our  eyes — 
A  pyre  for  passion's  sacrifice, 

Where  pleasure  is  our  only  god!" 
***** 

A  hundred  trilling  songs  of  larks 

A  hundred  blooming  dawns  may  greet, 
But  who  shall  stay  the  wanderer's  feet, 

And  call  his  spirit  from  the  dark? 


137 


DECREES 

I  SIT  in  sorrow  by  the  watery  gates, 
A-questioning  the  Fates. 

I  ask:  "What  manner  of  strange  ships 

are  these 
Slipping  adown  the  seas? 

"Slipping  adown  the  slanting  seas — what 

sail 
Is  yonder — calm  and  pale?" 

Then    the    Fates    answer   me:      "That 

goodly  bark 
Braving  the  waters  dark 

"So  fearlessly — the  cross  upon  her  mast — 
Is  Trust,  come  home  at  last. 

"Yon  quivering  craft  that  veers  and  puts 

about, 
Is  the  long-cruising  Doubt. 

138 


DECREES 

"This  dancing  galley  that  the  waters  mock 
Shall  strike  upon  the  rock; 

"  'Tis  Chance,  a  pleasure  yacht;  her  ribs 

shall  bleach 
Upon  the  blistering  beach." 

Yet  still  I  see  a  flamelike,  shining  cloud, 
And  eager  cry  aloud : 

"That   other   sail   that   waits   upon   the 

wind — 
What  is  her  name  and  kind?" 

To  me  the  Fates:     "Though  lying  still 

and  wan 
She  shall  approach  anon; 

"So    nobly    manned — with    any    gale    to 

cope — 
Behold  the  trusty  Hope." 

"Quicken  the  winds,  I  pray  you,  worthy 

Fates ; 
In  her  are  stored  my  freights ! 

"Nor  am  I  fit  for  life  of  any  sort, 
Till  she  shall  reach  the  port." 

139 


MY   FRIEND 

I  HAVE  a  friend  who  is  so  true  to  me, 
We  may  not  parted  be. 

Though  I  have  strayed,  on  to  the  utter 
most, 
Yet  is  his  voice  not  lost. 

If  I  am  madly-deaf  for  having  erred, 
Still  may  I  hear  his  word. 

If   sin  hath   slain   mine   honor,    straight 

appears 
The  river  of  his  tears, 

Wherein  I  find  redemption;  tenderly 
He  woos  my  fear  away 

And  searches  out  some  star  of  hope,  above, 
So  boundless  is  his  love. 

When  from  the  loathed  grave  I  shall  arise, 
He'll  hail  me  from  the  skies. 
140 


MY  FRIEND 

Who  else  would  seek  me  in  corruption's 

dress 
With  a  so  kind  caress? 

Though  I  am  weak,  there  is  a  hope  of 

power; 
He  is  my  mighty  tower; 

Like  as  a  flame  to  fright  the  gloom  away; 
He  is  my  perfect  day. 

I  am  the  homely  bulb  that  tops  the  reed — 
He  is  the  precious  seed. 

I    am    the    rudest    shell    the    vext-waves 

whirl — 
He  is  the  priceless  pearl. 

Thou  art  indeed  my  friend  while  ages  roll, 
O,  thou,  my  deathless  soul ! 


141 


A  PROVERB  PROVED 

WILL  My  Love's  so  trustful  eyes 
Ever  fail  me,  though  I  please 
From  their  depths  to  draw  supplies 
That  could  waste  the  seas? 

Will  those  pure  delicious  springs 
Ever  fail  me?    Wretched  day 
When  my  heart  no  longer  brings 
Its  life-draught  away! 

Do  they  nourish  my  desire, 
But  to  break  the  golden  bowl? 
At  their  margin  bid  expire 
My  all-thirsting  soul? 

No;  a  voice  forever  tells 
That  My  Love's  so  trustful  eyes 
Are  th'  unfathomed  crystal  wells 
Where  within  truth  lies. 


142 


AFTERMATH 

OUT  of  my  life  has  gone 

So  much  that  was  worth  the  living 

I  watch  with  dimmed  eyes  for  the  dawn 

Hoping,  despairing,  forgiving. 

Hoping  that  hope  may  live, 
Despairing  lest  fate  us  sever, 
Forgiving  whate'er's  to  forgive, 
Forever,  and  ever,  and  ever. 


143 


"I   AM    THE   WAY!" 

I  AM  the  way,  fear  not,  but  follow  me : 
Not  thro'  the  waters  flowing  still  and 

sweet; 
Not  thro'  the  meadows  gracious  to  the 

feet; 

But  in  the  bitter  dust  and  heat  of  day.— 
I  am  the  way! 


144 


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